Angels With The Scabbed Wings
by Gargoyle with a Smile
Summary: Serious angst - Fred and Draco fighting over what they desire the most.
1. Chapter 1 The End

Disclaimer : I don't own anything. Except plot.if you could call it that!! :s  
  
Summary : Rose Whittaker loves Fred Weasley more than she ever thought possible. A diabetic, and having lived with one abusive foster parent, she was shy, reserved, and cared for things she loved with a fire. But when Fred cheats on her, can Draco Malfoy of all people mend her broken heart, and will Fred and Draco ever get over their hatred and rivalry for one another?  
  
Rose - 5th year, Draco - 6th year, Fred - 7th year.  
  
Angels With The Scabbed Wings  
  
She was confused, to say the least. Yes, she had known that Draco Malfoy was, for want of a better word, a slut. But it was all over now. All over. Forever. And she was on her own.  
  
Rose wandered the corridors. It was cold, and she was freezing. She'd not brought a jumper with her when she'd ran out of the Gryffindor Common Room. Fred had been so angry. She'd never seen him this livid. But he didn't have the right to shout at her like that - not the way he had. All because Draco had kissed her. And Draco had kised her because Fred was drunk, and was getting off with that Ravenclaw Chaser, Hannah Allen.  
  
She didn't even know Draco. She'd seen him around, of course, but never spoken to him. He'd just been standing behind her at the Ball, when she'd seen Fred with Hannah. He'd whispered in her ear, made her look at Fred, then stolen a kiss and slinked off like a thief.  
  
Fred had found out, and told her that he couldn't stand to look at her. So Rosie had gone out, out into the cold, barely lit corridors to roam aimlessly, and shed a few private tears. But that kiss - it had burned her, it had felt like- 'Stop it,' she told herself furiously. 'Stop romanticisng. You know perfectly well that he only did it to piss Fred off.'  
  
"You're up late, little lady." An indifferent voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She turned, and saw Draco, sitting cross-legged in an alcove. A huge old book lay on his lap, and a wisp of smoke curled up from his ear. The candlelight up above lit his face up at odd angles, making the young man look ethereal.  
  
'He's on fire,' Rosie thought stupidly, then realised that he had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. "You know why I am," she spoke out loud. She stared at him. Draco never lifted his eyes from his book. "Fifth year bell went an hour ago," he remarked. "It's your bloody fault," Rosie spat. She felt tears ease into her eyes. No. She wouldn't let him see her cry. "You and your bloody rivalry! Look what you've done now! He won't even look at me! I hate" she was cut off, as Draco leant forward and slipped his cigarette into her mouth.  
  
When she stopped spluttering, and had realised that it wasn't a normal cigarette, she straightened up and glared at him. "What you've got to realise, little lady, is that Weasley doesn't want you any more." He shut the book with a snap. Rosie opened her mouth to contradict him, but fell silent as she remembered what Fred had said to her. He slid off the ledge, and advanced on her. She took a few steps back, and found herself pressed against the opposite ledge. "It's your fault," she hissed again. Draco chuckled, grazing his fingers over her hand. She flinched, as yet again the touch made her feel weak. "That I don't doubt," he whispered. "See? You feel it too. I can give you twice as much as Weasley ever can. Just say the word." He lifted her hand to brush it against his lips. Rosie bit her lip to stop herself crying out, but from what emotion, she could not establish.  
  
At that moment, Fred was looking for Rosie. He told himself that he'd been too harsh - look at what he'd been doing with Hannah. 'But Malfoy!' he reasoned with himself. 'How could she - that scum! God, but I said some shit to her. Shit. Where is she?' Fred walked and walked in the gloom. He kicked himself for getting so out of control, first with Hannah, then by shouting at Rosie.  
  
"Jump, little lady," Draco breathed, putting his hands round Rosie's waist. "What?" she murmered, but too late, for he'd lifted her onto the ledge. Draco studied her for a second, and in that moment, Rosie saw conflicting emotions fleet across his normally cold face. Lust, but also something that looked vaguely like trust.  
  
At that moment, when Draco's teeth were gently teasing the pale skin of Rosie's neck, Fred came round the corner, and found what he'd been searching for. He stopped, and an iron glove gripped his heart, and then punched him in the stomach.  
  
Sorry it's quite short - blame exams! Nxt part up as soon as I can!! Please let me know what you think - any amendments I could make, etc 


	2. Chapter 2 The Beginning

Chapter Two  
  
Fred made his way back to the Common Room, wrapping his arms round himself. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself making any sort of sound. 'She hates you,' he screamed at himself. 'And now Malfoy's fucking got her. You fucking idiot.'  
  
He slumped down on the opposite end of a sofa to George, who was engrossed in Divination homework. He looked up as his twin sat down, and noted his pale face. "Did you talk to her?" George asked quietly. Fred just stared, wild-eyed into the fire. "Fred?" "No, I. I saw her with Malfoy," Fred whispered. "What?!" George sat up straight. "When? Where? Are they - were they -?" "They were, um, together," Fred murmured, "and, they were, um.." he stopped to ease the lump that was building in his throat. "Christ, George, they were practically fucking each other in the corridor!" He put his head into his hands, and George looked distraught. He put a hand on his twins' arm.  
  
Lavender Brown straightened up. She'd been picking up her tarot cards that she'd dropped behind the sofa, and overheard. She grinned to herself, and hurried off to find Parvati. "Hey, Parv, you'll never guess what I just heard.." She went off into an explanation, elaborating here, cutting out bits there, etc, etc.  
  
Back in the corridor, Draco turned back to Rosie. "You see, my little one, if he really wanted you, he would've had the courage to fight for you," he hissed. Rosie was unable to say anything - her whole body was rigid with shock, and she was clenching the front of Draco's thin sweater tightly. He reached down and uncurled her fingers one by one. "He doesn't want you. He just wants to justify himself. I can give you everything," he whispered, sliding his hand along Rosie's upper arm. "Draco, what am I going to do?" she murmured. "You're going to forget about him, because you're mine now. And I'm going to keep you, and make love to you under a thousand stars, and you are going to love me. We'll dissolve ourselves in each other." He stood back, and held out a hand. "Come on. We have to go back now."  
  
Draco left her by the Fat Lady. She mumbled the password, and ducked through. Nearly everyone in the Common Room turned to stare as she walked through. Lavender had got round to most people with her new and improved version, and it had stuck.  
  
Rosie opened the door to her dormitory, and sat down on her bed.  
  
"What are you doing?" a quiet voice assailed her. Rosie looked up at Hermione. "Please, 'Mione, don't." "Is it true?" "Is what true?" Rosie asked softly. "That you had sex with Malfoy in the corridor?" Rosie just looked at her. "You know me better than that," she whispered. "Do I?" "You're my best friend! You should do!" Rosie cried. "Did he use anything?" "We didn't get that far!" "He's a bloody slut, Rosie!" Hermione was standing up now, and was angry. "God knows what you could catch!" "Stop it! We didn't do anything!" "Well, you did one thing. You've broken Fred's heart," she spat. "You know what happened with Liz - you know."  
  
Rosie mentally kicked herself. About a year ago, Fred had been in what he thought was a serious relationship with a girl called Liz Thompson. He'd walked in on her cheating on him, and he'd been devastated. It had been up to George, and then Rosie, to pick up the pieces, and try and comfort him.  
  
"I didn't do this purposefully," Rosie whispered, her mouth trembling. Hermione shook her head, and hugged the thinner girl. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I would never do that on purpose." "I know, I know," sighed Hermione.  
  
O.K..that's as far as Ive got so far..what do u think?  
  
Thnx to Cheryl for review - lvya!!!  
  
Bye for now.you can't get rid of me  
  
MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! 


	3. Chapter 3 The Past

Disclaimer : I don't own anything - except Rose - and I don't have anything to pay anyone in case you were thinking about suing.  
  
Thank you - Rose Rovente (hope that's spelt right!) I've tried to sort out the paragraphing, but my pooter goes funny when I upload (im on a mac)...nothing I can do I'm afraid! I'm trying this one with double line spacing though - so it may improve.or not. WARNING!!!!!!: CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT MAY BE OFFENSIVE TO SOME. I've used strong beliefs in this. I'm not getting at anyone or any religion or anything like that - I simply felt that it fits.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Someone dragged the bedclothes off Rosie, exposing her to the chilly morning air. "Come on! You're late!" Hermione's voice commanded. Rosie opened her eyes, and shut them again quickly. "Why do you care?" she mumbled. "What are you talking about now?" Hermione's voice had grown distant, as she moved about the dormitory, organising Rosie's books for her, and gathering her clothes. "He hates me. Everyone hates me. I feel sick. I'm not going to classes today. Go away." Rosie turned over and buried her face in the pillow, trying to forget everything - the look on Fred's face, the sneering, mightier-than-thou expression Lavender had worn, the disappointment in Hermione's voice the night before.and Draco. Draco. Rosie sat bolt upright. She'd been so absorbed in thinking about Fred, that she'd almost forgotten the reason why. "Now come on, we'll miss breakfast otherwise!" Hermione averted her eyes while Rosie washed and dressed. Thankfully, the Common Room was practically empty. The two girls hurried through, and made their way to the Great Hall. A few Gryffindors looked up, and their disgust was plain to see. They sank into their usual seats opposite Harry and Ron. Hermione tried to force conversation, but Ron wasn't having any of it. When Hermione started voicing her thoughts on the Yule Ball, he flung his knife down on his plate. "And I expect Angelina's going with Lee," Hermione trailed off. "I hope you're happy," Ron spat at Rosie. She went pale, and looked down. "You didn't deserve my brother! You knew what happened with Liz - you knew! But that didn't stop you, did it?" "Ron, please, I never meant to hurt" her voice came out barely more than a whisper. "No! I don't want to hear it, you miserable little bitch! Ad nor does anyone else here!" he slammed back his chair, and stormed out. In the space his absence left, Rosie could see a face with blonde hair looking at her intently, two tables away. Draco looked straight at her, and she looked away, ashamed and confused. "I'll see you in class," she croaked to Hermione, and hurried out. Once outside, she leaned against a pillar, and drew a few shaky breaths. Fred had not been at the table, only George, who looked like he'd been up half the night. She tried to think, but her emotions were running wild. "Not having second thoughts?" a smooth voice whispered behind her. She jumped violently, turning, and found herself in Draco's arms. "Draco," she whispered, her heart hammering from a strange mixture of fear and delight. "Expecting someone else?" Draco took her cold hand, and pulled her along. "Where are we going?" Rosie asked. "Somewhere private," came his answer. Somewhere private turned out to be the empty Charms classroom. Draco pushed Rosie into a chair, and sat on the desk. "Tell me," he said simply. Rosie felt a spark of anger ignite the gnawing inside her. "They hate me." She rose from the chair slowly. "They all fucking hate me. And I bloody hate me too!" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at Draco, who kept his face perfectly composed. "It's all your bloody fault!" she was almost crying now. "It's your fault!" she moaned, and suddenly tried to hit out at Draco. He caught her small fists, and held her still, drawing her close by her arms. "My fault?" he whispered, eyes bright. She nodded tearfully, hair all over the place, mascara running. "Bur you won't leave me will you?" It wasn't a question. It was a statement - Rosie knew she wouldn't leave him. partly because of the damage she'd done with Fred, and he would never take her back now. and partly because she couldn't. She could not summon up the energy, will or courage to leave him. Not just because he was almost God-like, in the power he had over her and in his nearly catastrophic looks. But because of the way he spoke to her. The way he would whisper in her ear, and she could not help but believe everything he said, or the way she could almost hear his voice in her head. This grew. Over time, Rosie's need for this boy grew into a state where she could not be apart from him for more than half an hour. They knew where the other was, when they were not together, and they grew apart from the rest of the students. All they needed was each other. Draco could provide the support Rosie needed, and in turn, she gave him the comfort he craved. For they had shared the deepest, darkest secrets that they possessed, and they were truly terrible. They both bared their scars to one another - Draco, his father's 'love'. resulting in the tears along his back, that only Rosie had seen. For Rosie, it was the memories, not physical pain, like Draco's. The memories of a supposed safe place that turned on her. Her first foster parents had been devoutly fearful of anything 'unnatural'. Rosie had never been allowed fairy tale story books. It was 'wicked', and 'brainwashing'. When she had received her letter from Hogwarts, she had been locked in her bedroom, all her toys and books removed, and been made to write pages and pages of lines about being a good little girl, and how good little girls never disobey their parents. Any spelling mistakes, or untidy handwriting, and she would not receive dinner, and refusal to write anything down would result in a battering. Talking back would mean that when her foster mother was out, her foster father would pay her a visit. Needless to say, it did the 11-year-old girl considerable damage. But Draco understood. And Rosie clung to that with every fibre of her body and soul. They had seen, touched, and caressed each others scars. 


	4. Chapter 4 Place your trust in your Guard...

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I think this is a bit longer than the other chapters, but bear with it if you can!! Thanks to Rose Rovente and Cheryl for reviewing.  
  
CHAPTER 4  
  
"You tell me I'm beautiful," Rosie whispered. "You tell me I'm your life, and that you love me more than anything in this world, And yet you haven't made a single move to - well, you know, - am I doing something wrong?" "God, Rosie," Draco breathed, "no. No, love." "Then what's wrong?" she trembled as he brushed her side with his cool hand.  
  
They were curled up in Rosie's bed - a place they couldn't often be, with the other Gryffindors around, but a place they loved to lie, and just be with each other. There was always Draco's room, but the Slytherin dormitories were cold, and unfriendly, while there was always a fire in Gryffindor. On this particular day, there was a Quidditch match on. Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, and most of the Gryffindors had gone along to watch the almost certain defeat of Hufflepuff.  
  
"Sex isn't everything, little lady," Draco smoothed down Rosie's hair. "You're not missing out on much." "But you've had," Rosie swallowed, "so many -lovers- I just thought." she trailed off. "Only because I could. I suppose it made me feel in control. alive. I was the one in possession of something that someone held dear. instead of my father." He shook his head, as if he'd just come out of the shower with water in his ears. "It's a whole lot of effort and mess just for ten seconds of pleasure." He studied her carefully for a moment. "Is it something you really want? I'm not saying I never enjoy it, it's just that there are more important things." "I don't know. I just thought it was. expected." Rosie shrugged. "I mean, I do want to- but I. I'm not. I'm not sure." she blushed, embarrassed. Draco chuckled, a rasping, but quiet sound. "You're scared, aren't you?" he smiled, almost a smirk. Rosie bit her lip. She hated it when he was in this kind of mood - he was teasing, but she never knew if he was serious or not. "Ah, my little lady. If you let me, I would give you the most. intense. feelings you'd ever feel. but I don't want to push you." "You don't have to have sex with me to make me feel like that," Rosie whispered. A ghost of a smile passed across Draco's lips. "No?" "No. You know that. I know you do." Draco shifted his weight slightly, so that he wasn't lying on Rosie's arm any more. They lay in silence for a few minutes. Dimly, through the window, they could hear the cheers from the Quidditch pitch. "Draco?" "Mmm." "Would you stay here tonight?" Rosie held her breath. He made no reply for a moment or two. "You know I can't," he spoke eventually. "Please? I just want to spend the night with you." "And what would your little girlfriends say?" Rosie gritted her teeth. He certainly was in a temperamental mood. "They wouldn't exactly be pleased. but I would." "No, Rosie. I don't want a month's worth of detention, scrubbing out bedpans in the hospital wing, if I'm not getting anything out of it." His voice was bored, now. "You just said that you didn't mind about the sex!" Rosie was hurt. Draco sat up, and got to his feet. "I don't. but scrubbing out some moron's piss for a month doesn't entertain me. I'll see you at dinner." He bent down, slipped his tongue into her mouth, and left. Rosie felt like screaming. She hated the way he could own her, just through a kiss. But she loved being owned, too. He was so. intoxicating. He could do whatever he liked, and she'd still love him.  
  
---------------_________________--------------------__________________------ -------------- And so it went on. He made her laugh, frequently made her cry, and they twined themselves together more and more tightly. Without him, Rosie was without oxygen. Without her, Draco was dehydrated. At times they treated each other like shit. The rest of the time they treated each other as gold dust. After the Easter half-term, Draco came back with a bruise tainting his left cheekbone. The purple-blue mark blended in with his almost white complexion, making him look even more like he was carved from a virtually flawless piece of ice. Rosie said nothing when she met him at the station - she'd stayed at school over the short holiday with Hermione - she could tell that he didn't want to bring it up then. Back at school, when she'd helped him unpack, she turned to him. "Show me." Draco regarded her shrewdly, then turned around, and pulled his roll-neck sweater over his head. Rosie, who'd seen all his previous scars, let out a cry of horror. A long welt ran from his left shoulder blade to the small of his back. It hadn't healed properly, and looked like it would need stitching if it opened up again, which looked quite probable. There were small painful looking cuts and bruising to the small of his back. Rosie came up close behind him. She carefully slipped her arms through his, and found his hands. Draco was breathing quite heavily, and he gripped her hands tightly. Rosie didn't say anything for a few moments, she was trying to sort her head out. She stared straight over Draco's shoulder while she thought. It was only when Draco started making those funny little sounds that happen when you're trying not to cry, and holding your breath at the same time, that she snapped back to the present. "Oh, God, Draco," Rosie finally managed to say, and a low choking moan came from Draco's throat. She rested her forehead against the back of his shoulder. Draco desperately tried to swallow the fear, and the tears that threatened to spill over, but it wasn't happening. "What has he do to you?" Rosie spun him around to face her, her hands holding his head still. Draco looked away, biting down on his bottom lip with the effort of trying to stay silent. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Rosie wiped it away quickly. "What did he do?" she cried.  
  
Oooo. I think I'll leave it there for now. next chapter up v v v v v soon!!! 


	5. Chapter 5 Rescued by an Angel

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fred will make another appearance soon, I promise! Oh, and just out of interest, I looked up 'cherry' in my thesaurus on word, and it came up as 'edible pulpy mass'. bizarre. And I'm so sorry about the paragraphing! I do know how to write, honest! It's my computer. damn technology.and also my dot-dot-dot's only come out as one dot, so please don't write this fic off because of it. Thanks for every review - keep them coming, and if anyone has any plot ideas, I'd be glad to listen!  
  
CHAPTER 5  
  
Draco's eyes turned dark with grief. Still he said nothing, but he turned his head back to Rosie, pleading with his eyes, begging her to make it stop. Rosie felt herself beginning to cry with despair. Draco often came back with a few cuts and scrapes, but this time something was terribly, terribly wrong. She had never seen him like this- silent, and obviously seriously in some form of pain.  
  
Suddenly his knees gave out, and he fell against her, renegade tears falling down his face. Rosie sank to the floor with him in her arms. She rocked him gently, cooing nonsensical words to him, like one does to a very small child, while her own tears made a constant stream down her own cheeks. He sobbed, terrified, and desperate into her shoulder.  
  
Eventually, they gathered the energy to make it onto Draco's bed. Rosie pulled the sheet around them, trying to bring some warmth to Draco's numb body. She drew the curtains around the bed, and she rubbed his hands, while he cried silently into his pillow. "What happened?" she whispered.  
  
"I can't." he moaned.  
  
"Yes you can, tell me, love," she stared down at him, willing him to speak.  
  
"He. he." Draco broke off, and gave another convulsing sob. "He touched me again. but he. he did more!" Draco could not bring himself to say it. "I didn't want it! I begged him, and he kicked me, telling me that I was not the son he wanted, and then he." he took deep, gasping breaths.  
  
"Alright, you don't have to say any more," Rosie could not see, she was blinded by her tears. She whispered softly to him, stroked his face - still beautiful, even with the bruise that marred it. She caressed his longish silvery hair, and kissed him in places where it would not hurt him.  
  
Red. Crimson. Scarlet. Ruby. Cherry. Carmine. Rose. Rosie had forgotten how many shades there were. Funny, when you looked at a trickle of that colour, how it became just that. A colour. Like used paint water. It stopped being part of you, and just became blood. She let the blade fall to the stone floor of the Prefects' bathroom. It had taken her ages to get it out of Hermione's razor - she hadn't dared to use magic. A pale, slender hand pressed a white towel to her arm.  
  
"You've remembered," Draco's voice came, husky and quiet in the large empty bathroom. She leaned back against the body that she knew was there.  
  
"Of course I have," she whispered, looking down at the old scars, now reopened. Draco tossed the towel onto a chair, then slipped his arms around her, pressing his nose and mouth into her shoulder.  
  
"But then - how could you forget, hmm?" Draco spun her around to face him. "How could you forget, little lady?" He captured her lips in a kiss, wanting to leave his mark. He pulled away, watching her carefully to study her reaction. Rosie put a hand up to feel her lips. They were bruised slightly. She looked up at him, smiled slightly, and kissed him back. He pulled away again after a moment. "My turn."  
  
Rosie loved watching Draco do anything. Anything at all. She loved to watch him cut, because he made no facial expression when he did it. He was a mask of pure indifference, one of the things he could take pride in, because he did it so well, indifference. Pride. Draco had a lot of that. Pride went along with his arrogance, selfishness and haughtiness, in parallel with the name he bore.  
  
He watched the trickle down his own arm. Rosie cocked her head so that she could see his face better. Seeing her move out of the corner of his eye, Draco looked up. Still he made no expression, but his eyes told her what to do. She fetched the towel, and took it to where he was leaning against one of the sinks. She covered his most recent cut, as he had done to her. When the blood had stopped flowing, they cleared everything up. Hid the evidence. But Rosie could still taste it in her mouth, smell it in the air. It would be a long time before that left them. ___________________--------------------___________________------------------ -------------  
  
Fred hated Draco. He hated him with every ounce of will and strength he possessed. It drained him, all the hatred he felt, because the Weasley twins were renowned for their kindly nature, if at times, they were slightly idiotic. He wasn't stupid. Rosie wasn't 'alright', as she so often told Lavender. She and Hermione hadn't spoken in days and days. They'd had a massive blow up in the Common Room.  
  
Flashback:  
  
"Hermione, can I talk to you for a second, please?" Rosie leant forward, whispering conspiratorially.  
  
"Actually, Ro, I'm kind of in the middle of researching a very interesting topic on Lollow's Mound. It was a prime sight for witch-burnings during the middle-ages, you know." Hermione didn't even look over the top of her book.  
  
"Yeah, right," Rosie muttered under her breath. Hermione looked up.  
  
"There's no need to be rude," she said sharply.  
  
"I'm being rude?" Rosie scoffed. "You've been too 'busy' to talk to me for about a month now, either studying for some piece of shit essay, or with Harry!"  
  
"Don't swear at me!" Hermione said indignantly. "And I'll have you know my essays are extremely stimulating!"  
  
"Oh, whatever, Hermione!" Rosie scowled. Harry saw the commotion and came over. Hermione had gone back to her book.  
  
"What's going on, guys?" he asked tentatively. Hermione looked up, and seeing Harry, cooed at him, and fluttered her eyelashes.  
  
"Nothing, Harry. You go and finish your Potions essay," she smiled sweetly. Harry smiled back, but he still looked concerned. Rosie sat up.  
  
"This is exactly what I mean! You just blank me, all the time! You're supposed to be my best friend, the one I can talk to! Well, you can go to hell!" she tore the book out of Hermione's hands, and tossed it into the fireplace, amid screams of horror from her best friend, and dead silence from the rest of the room.  
  
"What exactly is going on here?" Lee Jordan strode over. He'd been made a Prefect, for some obscure reason, as well as Draco.  
  
"Mind your own bloody business!" Rosie spat.  
  
"She's just burnt school property!" Hermione shrieked.  
  
"Would you shut the fuck up about school for once in your life?" Rosie cried. Lee took her by the elbow. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.  
  
"Taking you to see McGonagall," he growled, and marched her out of the room. "You lot come too," he threw over his shoulder.  
  
Rosie scrabbled at Lee's hold on her, swearing, and getting more upset by the minute.  
  
"Get off me!" she cried, desperately. Lee had hold of one of her sore forearms. "You're hurting me! Lee, you bastard, let go!"  
  
Suddenly a black and white blur shot down the stairs and tore Rosie away from Lee. It held Rosie close to it, moving its arms, trying to get as close to her as possible.  
  
"What are you doing, Jordan?" Draco spat.  
  
"Leave it, Malfoy. She's going to McGonagall's office." Lee reached out, but Draco pushed her behind him.  
  
"You forget, Jordan, I'm a Prefect too," Draco smirked. "And she's not going."  
  
"You git, Malfoy, leave it, I said." Lee reached for Rosie's arm again. Draco pulled her away, and Lee grabbed hold of her bare arm. She cried out in pain.  
  
Lee took a step back in a mixture of horror and disgust at the state of her arm. The shocked faces of the other Gryffindors looked on. "What the fuck is going on?"  
  
Draco turned slightly, to look at Rosie intently, telling her silently to be careful now - but the expressions on her best friends faces was too much. Rosie burst into tears, and Draco pulled her against him.  
  
"Leave it," Draco growled, and swept off, Rosie clinging to his side.  
  
Ta-da! Slightly longer methinks - sorry! Reviews very much loved! 


	6. Chapter 6 The Fallen Angel

CHAPTER 6  
  
Later that evening, when the other girls in her dormitory were asleep, Rosie stood in front of the full-length mirror that belonged to Lavender. She hiked up her T-shirt to examine her hips. 'He owns me,' she thought, noting the bruises, left from a rather rough, passionate embrace after Draco had taken her up to the Astronomy Tower. It was the only place he could think of that was fairly private. She shivered. She loved it, and that scared her.  
  
"Ah, Mr Malfoy, please sit down." Dumbledore looked up from his parchment as the slender young man entered his office.  
  
"I'm fine where I am," Draco replied coolly. Dumbledore sighed.  
  
"I won't beat around the bush, Draco," he said seriously. "We have a problem here, and you know it. I'm aware that we have rarely if ever seen eye to eye on anything, but I ask for your co-operation in this matter."  
  
"I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at, Professor," Draco said in the same level voice.  
  
"Your relationship with Miss Whittaker." Draco's face remained as impassive as ever. He stayed silent.  
  
"I've seen the scars, Draco. Inside and out. The cutting, the throwing up - it must stop. And stop soon." Dumbledore remained calm and kindly throughout the whole interview. Draco realised instantly that he could not mess Dumbledore around, so he bit back the reply he was about to make, and stared at the Headmaster. Dumbledore tried desperately to see something in the cold grey eyes, that to him bore nothing but malice, and heartlessness.  
  
"Is that all?" Draco refused to budge an inch. He held himself tall, still, and calm.  
  
"Madam Pomfey expressed her concerns to me when Rose was admitted to the hospital wing a month ago, with a bad cold. She approached me again after your accident during Quidditch training last week. I am extremely concerned, Draco. Sooner, I fear, rather than later, one or both of you will get hurt. I am talking to you because I know you have a strong influence over Rose." Draco smiled inwardly at that. Dumbledore had no idea - Draco could make her tremble, make her cry, make her swoon, and make her crazy with desire. He loved it. The smile faded, however, when Dumbledore's words struck him properly. The final tones in his voice signalled to Draco that the interview was over.  
  
Draco turned stiffly, and began to walk from the circular room. Just as he placed his hand on the beautifully carved doorknob, Dumbledore spoke again.  
  
"End it, Draco."  
  
Draco turned back to see Dumbledore staring at him, bright blue eyes for once not twinkling. "I want to give you the chance to do it - if you do not I will be forced to step in."  
  
Draco nodded curtly, and left.  
  
  
  
If Draco was exceptionally good at one thing, it was break ups. This had to be good. It had to be explosive. And it had to be now. If he took time to think about it, he would hesitate. He could not allow himself to do so. He had seen what was happening, and somewhere, deep inside, something had been harassing him for some time. The night in the Astronomy Tower. He'd left bruises - he must have done, he'd felt how thin she was. How thin he was, as well. He'd always been quite slender, and becoming the Slytherin Seeker had had a notably good effect on his physique, improving his strength, and toning his body. But his state of fitness was declining, due to a lack of proper nourishment, and countless sleepless nights. So he'd do it. And he'd do it well.  
  
He went to the portrait outside the Gryffindor Common Room, and cornered Neville, who was trying to remember the password. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and pinned him to the wall.  
  
"Password, Longbottom," he growled. He gritted his teeth while Neville stuttered and stammered, trying to get the word out.  
  
"T-t-t-telephone!" gasped the terrified Neville. Draco let go instantly, and followed the trembling boy down the passage.  
  
A sea of faces turned towards the passage as the Slytherin emerged. Neville gave a squeak of fright and scurried up to his dormitory.  
  
Rosie let the book in her hand fall to the floor. It was only a novel - she'd given up on schoolwork for the evening. There was complete silence for a moment, and then the chatter grew back into a dull murmur. Draco went straight to her, took her hand, and led her up the stairs to the dormitories. Everyone knew what they were going to do. If it had been any other couple, catcalls and cheers would have accompanied them. But not him. Never him.  
  
In the girls' dormitory, Rosie stood in the centre of the room, while Draco shut the door behind him. Rosie felt herself grow hot as he took leisurely, purposeful, slow steps towards her. The moon shone its light in at the window. The starlight mingled with the radiance from the white orb, and cast everything in a bluish light. It made Draco's hair into a sheet of silvery silk, falling into his eyes. She felt his hot breath on her cheek. He didn't touch her - he teased her out, making her plead silently for him to reach out, to let his lips touch her in places only he could. When Rosie thought she could stand it no longer, he let his lips graze her own. He took them away, and their noses touched briefly.  
  
Rosie put a hand out to reach for him as he pulled away again. The blue light made the scars stand out. She slid her hand under his T-shirt, onto his stomach. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to see him, to explore every inch of the boy in front of her, although she quailed at the thought of his eyes all over her, with nothing to protect her skin from the burning looks he would give her. Draco took her hand, and placed it on his hip, so that he could lift off his top. As ever, the sight of him filled her with longing, with a wonder of how this boy could be made so beautiful, so perfect, so divine. Draco came forward again, and laid his hand on her belt, running a finger round the waistline of her black jeans. Rose's thoughts shot back to when she had been in a situation similar to this with Fred - except they had been tipsy, and Fred had started fumbling with the zipper on her trousers. He had gone too fast for her, and she'd been scared.  
  
But that was a long time ago. And her time spent with Fred, dear, kind Fred (for he had been her first love) was just a memory. Draco didn't fumble, all his movements were sure, confidant, and they had been together for eternity. She trusted him completely. His fingers undid the clasp of her belt, her buttons, the zip, and let her jeans fall to the floor. Rosie looked down at her plain, dark blue underwear, and smiled, blushing. She hadn't known it would be tonight, had she? She would have put something else on otherwise. Draco didn't smile. He slid the straps of her top off, and let it fall away too. Her skin goose pimpled in the cool air. She could read nothing into his expression, although he was frowning slightly, but whether in confusion, thought, or unhappiness, she couldn't tell.  
  
He walked forwards, making her walk backwards, then pressed his mouth to hers, and pushed her onto her bed. They shifted around a bit until her head was on the pillow, and then Draco began his descent. Kisses to her throat, collarbones, shoulders, he bestowed, covering every inch of her skin. She ran her fingers through his silver hair, marvelling at the way it fell back into exactly the same place. He covered her too-thin ribs with small kisses, then put his fingers either side of her hips and began to slip her underwear off. She gasped, and gripped his wrist to stop him. He kissed her hand softly, persuasively, and she relented. She started to panic, as he slipped off his jeans. Frantic thoughts assaulted her. What if he hurt her? What if he was too big? What if she was just plain crap?  
  
He looked up at her then. He'd avoided eye contact till then, but his piercing gaze made her ache to feel him inside her. She found his hand, and he gripped hers as he entered her. Rosie had been right - he did hurt her. It was a pain full of heartache, longing, instinct, wanting, and fear. It was a dear pain to her. She cried out suddenly, as much as from the emotion of it as the pain. As they moved together, their hands still clutching - Rosie's right and Draco's left - he kissed her warm lips, and she tasted him, sweet, hot, and powerful. He broke away to breathe, their breath coming in gulps of air, and short gasps. He claimed her neck, and left little bite marks, then soothed the sting with tiny butterfly kisses. When it was too much for either of them, Draco came into her with a moan, and feeling him inside her, Rosie climaxed just after.  
  
Draco collapsed on her, a half-flush dying along his cheekbones, his back covered in a sheen of perspiration, panting heavily. Rosie's breath came in deep shuddering gasps, and she kissed the top of his head, then fell back, exhausted. They swapped places, both lying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. 'We haven't said a word to each other since this morning," Rosie thought.  
  
When finally they'd got their breath back, and Rosie felt Draco's fingers stroking her hair absentmindedly, she braved the question, although she was expecting the stereotypical answer.  
  
"Was it alright?" she whispered. His fingers stopped moving in her hair, and there was silence once more.  
  
"I don't want to see you any more," Draco said, coolly.  
  
  
  
MWAHAHAHAA! I'm leaving it there, chaps! Tune in tomorrow (or the next day!) to see what happens!  
  
Thank you for all my reviews ;) I really appreciate them. 


	7. Chapter 7 The Part of an Angel

CHAPTER 7  
  
Rosie's body went numb with shock. A roaring grew in her ears, it filled her head, her throat, her entire body, until she was trembling from it. But Draco was sliding out from under her, and standing up.  
  
"What?" she croaked, her throat tightening and drying up. "Draco - what?" She sat up, pulling the sheet around her.  
  
"I need something new. A challenge. You're a pushover," he said coldly, pulling on his clothes. His eyes had glazed over; projecting nothing but steel, and his lips bore the beginnings of a sneer.  
  
Rosie couldn't even begin to comprehend what he was saying.  
  
"We're- finished?" she breathed.  
  
"Yes!" he spat. "Don't you get the message? You come running when I click my fingers - it's pathetic!" He finished dressing himself, and shoved his hair out of his eyes. "I suggest you get dressed - you don't want your - 'friends'- to see you like that," he said coldly, eyeing her with disdain. He turned to go, and Rosie stood up.  
  
"Draco - please" she began, but he interrupted.  
  
"Oh, don't start!" he cried. "Get over yourself! Now, I'm going. Pull yourself together for God's sake. Weasley might still want you back - but I doubt it." He smiled nastily, and banged the door shut after him. As he hurried down the stone steps, he heard a strangled scream from the dormitory he'd just left. It carried into the Common Room, and cut through all conversation. Draco strode through, his usual sneer on his face, but Fred got up.  
  
"Fred, leave it!" muttered George, urgently, but Fred shook him off.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
Draco turned, smiling sardonically.  
  
"Weasley."  
  
"What did you do to her?" Fred's voice trembled. Draco folded his arms, and shifted his weight onto one foot, slouching. He said nothing, but smiled evilly, looking for the entire world like the fallen angel. "If you've hurt her, I swear I'll make you pay!" he shouted. Draco, with infuriating insolence, stayed calm.  
  
"Do you still want her, Weasley?" he said with mock surprise. "You should have said something!" He leant forward, and his whole demeanour changed. "She's soiled goods now, Freddy," he hissed. He spun around, and started walking out.  
  
"You bastard!" Fred cried. "You'll end up just the same as your father!" Murmurs of agreement came from the watching House. Draco stopped dead. He backtracked, and smashed his fist into Fred's face. Fred fell back, onto the floor, pressing a hand to his nose where blood was gushing. Draco had just reached the passage when someone tapped his shoulder. He turned once more, and a returning fist smashed into his eye. He bent double, covering half his face, and looked up with his good eye at George.  
  
The sob ripped from her throat, and left her shaking, naked in the bed. No tears gathered in her wide-open eyes though. She was just trembling with pure terror. Fear of loneliness. Disbelief. And then the cold came. It spread through her body, infecting every part of her, turning her blood black, devouring the life within her. She cried out, but no sound came from her mouth. She screamed in that same silent voice, called out for her love, but her love did not return. She called desperately, but the black did not recede from her veins.  
  
Down in the Common Room, they looked at each other. Finally Hermione broke the silence.  
  
"We've got to do something!" she cried, her lip trembling. "We've got to go up- find out- or- or something!"  
  
Still no one moved. "She might be hurt!" Hermione began to cry, "He might have- we have to go up!" Harry looked at Ron, who bit his lip and looked away. Lavender and Parvati began to whisper furiously together in the corner. George looked for a moment as though he wanted to say something, but then his face fell. Fred looked at Hermione.  
  
"I'll go," he said quietly. Hermione stared at him. He nodded.  
  
"Wait, Fred. She might be in a - situation. Let me go first, and then if I need help, I'll call for you, ok?" she said suddenly. Fred nodded again, and followed her up the stairs. He sat down at the top, outside the dormitories. Hermione pushed open the door. She as glad she'd made Fred wait outside -Rosie was naked, tangled up in the top sheet, half-hanging out of the bed.  
  
"Rosie?" she whispered, her heart sinking. The girl in front of her made no reply. "Rosie?" she hurried over, and touched her bare back. She was cold, but most definitely alive. Her bony shoulder blades rose and fell with the rasping breaths she took. Hermione rolled her over, and covered her with the sheet. Rosie's once merry brown eyes were dull, and she didn't appear to recognise Hermione. "It's me, Ro. It's me, Hermione. What happened?" she spoke gently, and started to stroke her friend's forearms.  
  
Fred waited outside, feeling his nose cautiously. He could hear the low murmur of Hermione's voice, but nothing else.  
  
  
  
Draco had forced himself to walk out, tall and straight, but once he'd immersed himself in the maze of corridors, he found that his legs wouldn't hold him any more. He sank down on a window seat, and drew the curtains around, so that he was secluded. The throbbing ache in the back of his throat was killing him. He wrapped his arms around himself, and rocked backwards and forwards. He'd done what had been asked of him. He'd done it the way that had been expected of him - the Malfoy way. But a deep gnawing filled his gut, ate away at his insides and devoured his soul. The price he had to pay for love. He was not allowed to love - love was far too humane for a Malfoy. A true Malfoy would not have allowed himself to be ensnared so easily. His father did not allow it. Draco was not a child born out of love - he was a necessity, an heir, successor of his father.  
  
Draco bit so hard on his lip, that he drew blood. It trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he let it go. He'd never cried so much in his life. Crying was another un-Malfoyesque thing to do. He'd not allowed himself to cry at home, for he had his own pride, quite separate from the family name, to bear. Whatever the task, whatever the punishment, he'd accepted it without fuss, or noise. He'd felt the humiliation, the anger, the fear, but he refused to let his father, or his father's master rejoice in his downfall.  
  
His father's master would never have allowed Draco to have attachments like that when it came to the time of his initiation - which was not far off. Draco reckoned that it would only be a few months after he'd left Hogwarts. He would be eighteen years old, with a bought and paid for career all mapped out. Well paid, decent hours - plunging the human world into destruction and despair.  
  
So he cried now, hating himself, hating Dumbledore, hating the Dark Side, hating Fred Weasley. All he could look forward to now was the day his father died. But that meant becoming one of His right-hand men. He wept for the lack and loss of goodness in his life. Surely Dumbledore could see? If it had been Harry, or one of those bloody Weasleys, he would have plucked them from the path of danger, or even ill repute. But not Draco Malfoy. Draco briefly considered asking Dumbledore for help, but dismissed that as absurd. It wouldn't happen - and no one would believe that a Malfoy could change.  
  
He could not let Rosie get hurt. God forbid anything should happen to her. So he'd play his father's son. Just as it should be. He would play the part he had been born to play. 


	8. Chapter 8 The Missing Angel

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologise for this extreeeeeemely brief chapter, and it is also extremeeeeeeeely bad, but I wanted to get the 'join' out of the way because I was so excited about what happens next, and thought the next part would sound better told from Rosie's P.O.V. - so I'm posting 2 at once to make up for it! Maybe even three if you're lucky! Depends how many reviews I get, lol!  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 8  
  
The next morning at breakfast, Draco received an owl. He caught the envelope in his hand, and opened it. It simply read, "You have shown courage." He glanced up at Dumbledore, who nodded slightly. Draco resisted the urge to screw the parchment up and throw it at the old Professor's face. What did that aged fool know? He had no idea of how much courage it had taken to do what he had done.  
  
Hermione had dragged Rosie down with her. Rosie had not protested. She had not done anything. Hermione had had to dress her herself. So Rosie sat, hunched up between Hermione and Angelina, with unwashed hair, and a creased shirt. Hermione put some egg and bacon on Rosie's plate, but she touched nothing. Her eyes were blank, and she just stared at her goblet of orange juice.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Only a few days passed until Draco was no longer seen in lessons, nor at mealtimes. Draco had left. No details were given out, but everyone knew where he had gone, and most knew why.  
  
It was evident that she was worn out. She couldn't sleep, eat, drink, talk. She couldn't bear to have a boy touch her, even a pat on the shoulder. Hermione looked after her, telling her to keep her head up, be brave, not let him get to her.  
  
But it wasn't that easy. Hermione didn't know - she wouldn't know, because Harry wasn't like Draco. There was just nothing there any more. No laughter, and no tears. She was empty. Her friends noticed, her teachers noticed, but all her work was way above average and she wasn't troublemaking, so they had no reason to talk to her about it.  
  
What could anyone say anyway? They couldn't undo what Draco had done, and they couldn't bring him back.  
  
George was seething with anger. Fred didn't say much, but it was killing him, knowing how Draco had abused Rosie's trust in him, and how she was feeling. Hermione was upset, and Harry and Ron did their best to cheer their friends up. It didn't work.  
  
Lavender and Parvati went round talking in loud voices about 'how boys are only after one thing', and how they're all 'lying hounds - as boyfriends, anyway.' Assumedly, they thought it would make Rosie feel better.  
  
Rosie was too confused to do anything. It was easier not to think about it, and immerse herself in her schoolwork. She would work late into the night, tiring herself out so that she would not wake up in the night without him. Hermione made arrangements for Rosie to stay with her during the five week summer holiday. 


	9. Chapter 9 The Angelic Embryo

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is told from Rosie's P.O.V. Thanks very much for all my reviews - I want more! Hehehe, I really appreciate it.  
  
CHAPTER 9  
  
It's been a few weeks now, since you spurned me. I'm in my sixth year now. Most of our Quidditch team have left. Harry's the Captain now. Fred and George did what they always wanted to - they opened their Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop down in the town. Wood's been accepted into the England Youth Quidditch squad as a reserve. So many people, so many different paths. Of course, I knew your path from the moment someone whispered your name to me. I suppose I deluded myself into believing you wouldn't follow it. I know you didn't want to. But who can reason with or change the will of the most powerful Dark wizard in the universe? He wanted you there, and you had to go.  
  
At times I wonder whether you really loved me at all - or whether I was just a quick fix. But then I think if that was true, you would have moved on and on, the way you used to. I've tried to tell myself that you must have felt something, otherwise what we did would never have happened. It doesn't work, most of the time. I haven't cried though - I was quite proud about that, in a stupid way. I used the indifference you taught me, to deceive people that I was ok, so that they'd just leave me alone.  
  
Fred and George come back up to the school a lot. They like to promote their new inventions, and although McGonagall pretends to scold them, she's got a soft spot for them. Even Dumbledore's twinkle has come back. I say 'come back' - the whole school's in mourning, love. You should see the decoration - shrouds have enveloped the Great Hall, and the whole place has a lugubrious air to it. In your honour. A lot of students ask why, why are we mourning the son of one of the most powerful Dark wizards in the world, one who sits on Voldemort's right hand? The answer given by Dumbledore is simple.  
  
"Because he was just a boy."  
  
When he made the announcement, we were in the Great Hall for dinner. Fred and George were on one of their visits, and even their happy-go-lucky attitudes could not lighten the mood. Everyone knew serious news was coming, because of the expression Dumbledore had worn when he received his morning mail. All day, the castle had been wrapped in an air of gloom. When he said those words, I could not see. I looked up, blindly, and through my fog, I could see the blurry outlines of the twins' faces, gazing at me in the silence that followed. My knuckles whitened, from holding the edge of the table too hard, and I couldn't breathe. The smog filled my lungs, burning my throat, clamping down on my airway. In those first few seconds I thought of myself. But then I thought of you, and panicked. I panicked because I thought you might have suffered. After all you'd put me through, I still didn't want you to be hurt in any way. I didn't hear what you'd done, what you'd done to deserve death from the one you'd pledged your life to so early, because I felt like my heart had been ripped out, and placed on the table in front of me, offered up to the God of Love. The Gods play an awful game with us mere mortals, my love.  
  
I prayed, love. For the first time in my life, I prayed, hoping desperately that there was someone out there, watching over us, who could see the tenderness that you had expressed to me, and forgive you for whatever you'd done. To a God who doesn't exist. I know he doesn't exist. How could a God who is supposed to be benevolent, and omnipotent, treat me this way? Am I being selfish? I don't think so. I've got to cope with this on my own. Without you, without Fred, without Hermione, without anyone. On my own. In this nightmare. Nobody wants to be alone, love. Nobody wants to cry. I've reopened that scar. You know which one. The first one you gave me, the one in a straight line leading to my hand. I wish all the blood would just flow out, then I wouldn't have to go through this. I don't know what it's like for you - what it's like being dead. But I know what it's like to be the one left behind. Left in isolation, and utterly alone.  
  
  
  
But I'm not alone. Did you plan this? It was a cruel trick, Draco, if you did. You see, you left something behind, love.  
  
You left your child in my womb. 


	10. Chapter 10 Return of the Angel

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologise to every single artist whose lyrics I have stolen, I don't own any of them, and they're all fantabulous!!  
  
CHAPTER 10:  
  
Charlie Weasley shrugged off his cloak, slung it over his arm, put his bag down, and gazed around the Entrance Hall.  
  
"Charlie, dear boy!" Professor McGonagall hurried down the steps to meet him.  
  
"Minerva!" Charlie kissed her hand gallantly. "Still as lovely as ever!"  
  
The Professor blushed - a thing quite unheard of for her.  
  
"Och, Charlie, you haven't lost your charm - or your cheek for that matter! I remember you as a wee first year, young man!" she laughed.  
  
"How is she, Minerva?" Charlie grew serious. The Professor took on a grave expression.  
  
"Well, Charlie, at times she seems to pick up a little. But this has been a worse week. Her schoolwork, however, is quite exceptional." Professor McGonagall took Charlie up to Dumbledore, where they talked for a while.  
  
"I'm glad you were able to come. It was your brother George's idea to invite you. I gather you always got on well with Rosie?" Dumbledore smiled.  
  
  
  
After Charlie had unpacked, he went to the Gryffindor Common Room. He saw Rosie sitting on one end of a sofa, staring at a book, but not turning the pages. Hermione sat near in an armchair, scribbling furiously with her quill.  
  
"Charlie!" She looked up and saw him. He smiled and went over.  
  
"Hello, Hermione. How are you?"  
  
"I'm very well thank you. It's good to see you again."  
  
"It's good to be back. I've missed this place." He looked up at and around the Common Room. He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa to Rosie. "Hey," Charlie murmured. Rosie blinked, and looked up. Seeing a person she'd always admired, who'd been kind to her when she'd spent that first summer at the Weasleys', bruised and battered, brought the ghost of a smile to her otherwise sallow face. Inwardly, Charlie was horrified. He'd been told she was in a bad state, but this was awful. He hardly recognised her.  
  
"What have you been up to?" Charlie said lightly, taking her hand in his larger one. She stared down at it, eyes wide, and went rigid.  
  
"Charlie," Hermione said warningly, looking over the top of her book, and shaking her head fervently. Charlie let her go quickly. Rosie seemed to give herself a mental shake, and screwed up her eyes, thinking.  
  
"I've been - working, a lot," she muttered, then fell silent again. Charlie nodded, waiting for more. But none came.  
  
"So - you gonna show me where I can find Fred and George?" he asked brightly.  
  
"I'm not - they're - I don't" she struggled to find words.  
  
"Come on," Charlie said firmly, and stood up. She followed him up to the dormitories. He stood back, as she knocked on Ron and Harry's door. Ron opened it.  
  
"Charlie!" Ron hugged his older brother, then broke away quickly. "I mean, erm, how are you doing?" He added a punch for good measure. Charlie chuckled, and caught his brother in a headlock. "Fred, help me!" Ron managed to yell, shaking with laughter. Fred came out of the dorm, with only his jeans on. His hair was wet and spiky. He'd obviously just come out of the shower. Rosie looked down at the floor; suddenly her eyes felt hot, and tears pricked at the back of them.  
  
Pleasenotnowdon'tletmecrynotinfrontofhimpleasenonotnowpleasepleaseplease -  
  
It sounded stupid, but she felt in awe of him. His body, slim, pale, and beautiful reminded her of Draco, and that in turn reminded her of her situation. It wasn't just Fred - every time she saw a couple holding each other, or being affectionate, she just wanted to cry, because it was so beautiful, so sacred. She managed to get herself under control, and looked up. George had also come to the door, and they were talking. She excused herself, and went back downstairs.  
  
Over the next few days, Charlie tried to get through to her. Maybe if she didn't have her secret, she would have responded better to Charlie. She'd liked him from the first time she saw him, and they'd got on very well. He was like a brother to her, older, wiser, and very much loved. But it just wasn't happening.  
  
Rosie and Hermione had had an argument. The most words Hermione had heard her speak in ages. It had been about something stupid - a missing hairbrush. But Rosie was not feeling too happy, and every little thing upset her.  
  
So now she sat and stared into the fire. The flames crackled merrily, licking up the logs and burning brightly. Someone sat down beside her. 'Go away,' she thought. 'Just go away, and -  
  
"Tell me."  
  
It was Fred. She turned, in shock, to stare at him.  
  
"Don't," she said, her voice unnaturally high. "Please, don't."  
  
"I can't bear to see you like this," Fred said desperately. "I know you loved him - but this is too much, Rosie." His face was pale, and unhappy.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"You don't understand," she whispered.  
  
"Then tell me! Make me understand!" Fred cried. "I don't want you to be like this any more!"  
  
"I can't - I can't tell you," she whispered, a tear slipping down her face. She turned away, but he put his hand under her chin and made her look at him.  
  
"You can tell me anything," he said quietly, and wiped the tear away with his thumb. This was too much for Rosie. She opened her mouth - but no words came out. She tried again, but the words wouldn't come. Fred saw her helplessness, and pulled her close in a rib-cracking hug. She clung to him, feeling his warmth and solidity. A lump came to Fred's throat, but he choked it down, because this was his Rosie, who he'd wanted to hold like this for an age. A much thinner Rosie, but still she was real, and she was here. But she was fading fast.  
  
"Please tell me," he whispered into her hair. He felt her shoulders shaking. "You must, Rosie - you can't go on like this."  
  
"You'll hate me!" she sobbed.  
  
"I'll never hate you. Never."  
  
"I'm pregnant," she moaned softly, and braced herself for his response. He pulled away to look at her.  
  
"Christ," Fred said quietly. "You- you're - oh, Rosie, please don't cry any more!"  
  
She'd dissolved into tears. "It's ok," he muttered, wrapping his arms around her again. "It'll be alright. It will. I promise."  
  
But despite his words, Fred felt that Rosie's opening up, and confession was only the beginning of the outlet of all the damage He had caused.  
  
  
  
Fred searched for her. He'd been putting this off for too long. He found her at last in the Astronomy Tower. She watched him come in, and he stood in the centre of the round room. Her heart felt heavy.  
  
"I need to be with you," Fred said, his eyes downcast.  
  
"No, Fred, it's not fair on you," she muttered, curled up in the window sill. "You know I still - I'm still in love with him."  
  
"I can put up with being second best!" Fred cried suddenly. She whipped round to face him.  
  
"What?" she whispered, haggardly.  
  
"I can - if it means being with you, I can."  
  
"You can't do that. I - I won't let you. You can't throw your life away on me!" she raised her voice.  
  
"Do you feel anything for me?" he came close.  
  
"Yes," she murmured, upset. "I always have. But you can't."  
  
"You need a family now. Your baby needs a daddy," he whispered, a tear escaping his brimming eyes. She shook her head, but he put his fingers under her chin.  
  
"I love you, Rosie. We can look after your baby, and just be there for each other." His voice came out as a tiny gasp - he was so upset that he couldn't stop talking. "I'll look after you. That's all I want to do. Make sure you're ok, love. And maybe one day, you'll love me too."  
  
The sight of him crying his heart out was too much. If she could make him happy, and he could look after her, it would be alright. They'd be alright. Everything would be ok.  
  
Maybe if she repeated it firmly enough, and enough times in her head, she'd start to believe it. 


	11. Chapter 11 Thanks

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is from Fred's point of view.  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 11  
  
You agreed. God, I hoped you would. I don't know what I'd have done if you had refused. I know you're perfectly capable of being as stubborn as that - but maybe you've just had enough. I was so proud of you when you told Dumbledore. You held your head high, and you tried not to look back. Charlie's gone back home now, but he feels the same as I do. You've done the right thing in telling, love.  
  
I know Mum's reaction wasn't quite what we'd hoped for, but she'll come round. Charlie'll persuade her if things get difficult. I think she was just shocked because you're so far along. It's a wonder you haven't started showing yet - but Mum said that can sometimes happen. I'm glad we've got the flat above the shop though - things would be mental at The Burrow when you leave Hogwarts. And I know you're worried about George, but he's happy. Trust me, I'd know if he wasn't.  
  
I meant what I said about being second best. I know you still love Him. But I can't help thinking you must love me too, because otherwise I wouldn't feel like this about you - if there wasn't any hope, I mean. He's gone. I know that, and I think you do too, although I know you'll never give up hope.  
  
I'm scared, Rosie. I'm scared that when you have the baby, you'll slip back into your old ways. I don't think I could handle that. You've got to be strong now - we're going to have another person with us soon, one who's going to be totally dependent on us. And you'll still be at school for a few months. I'll come up as often as I can - we'll make it work, somehow. Thank God the Professors are so understanding.  
  
It's nearly time. You've been off school for a week and a half now. I'm worried, you haven't been eating properly. I know you're scared, and it just makes it worse that He's not here. It pains me to say it, but I'd love to hear even one of his condescending remarks right now, because I know you need the reassurance of his voice, and touch. But I suppose if he were here, I wouldn't be with you. Life hates us humans alright. We just have to make the best of it. 


	12. Chapter 12 Birth of an Angel

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologise if I get any details about the birth and/or pregnancy wrong, including timescale!!  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 12  
  
Rosie was just about to start the descent of the stairs in The Burrow, when sharp pains shot through her. She clutched the banister, and uttered a guttural sound.  
  
"Rosie?" Mrs Weasley called from downstairs. "Are you alright dear?"  
  
"Molly!" Rosie called weakly. "I think it's coming."  
  
Mrs Weasley abandoned the peeling of the potatoes for that night's dinner, and ran up the stairs. She took Rosie around the waist and shoulders, and helped her into her own bedroom. Mrs Weasley lowered Rosie to the double bed, and rubbed the girl's shoulder sympathetically.  
  
"I'll go and call Fred, dear, and then I'll call Mrs Abbott." She bustled from the room, and went back downstairs to the fire. Presently Mrs Abbott, the midwife, had Apparated into the living room, and Mrs Weasley was talking to Fred's head in the fire.  
  
Upstairs, Rosie rubbed her belly. The bump had still not enlarged much, and she was feeling more than slightly nervous. She felt sick. In fact, she'd not felt this sick since the start of her last school year, when she'd had the morning sickness. It suddenly dawned on her that in a few hours, she'd be in excruciating pain, and something the size of a rugby ball would be coming out of her. She shuddered. It couldn't be possible, surely - but then, her baby wasn't as big, and it was a week early. All the talks she'd had with Julia Abbott somehow felt a million years ago, and she started to panic. Where was Fred? She heard Mrs Abbott's footfalls on the carpet outside Mr and Mrs Weasleys' bedroom, and the cheerful, ruddy face of the kindly woman appeared round the door.  
  
"Hello, dear," she smiled, and Rosie grimaced in greeting. "I'll have to examine you in a few minutes, to see how far along you are, alright?"  
  
No it was not alright. Rosie hated the examinations. She felt mortified and uncomfortable, but the midwife was extremely discreet, and knew how to handle even the most nervous of mothers-to-be.  
  
"Where's Fred?" Rosie asked through clenched teeth.  
  
"We told him not to come along for a while, dear - I don't think anyone is going to be arriving soon," Mrs Abbott smiled, tidying the bedclothes. "Now - shall we get you into a clean nightie?"  
  
Rosie hobbled into her own room to change. Julia was very nice, but she treated Rosie like she was a child, and not someone about to give birth. And she wanted Fred here.  
  
Fred Apparated into the kitchen.  
  
"Mum! Where is she? What's happening?" he rushed at his mother, who was preparing some clean towels. "Oh, hello, Julia," he added, espying the midwife.  
  
"Good evening, Fred," she replied cheerfully.  
  
"Everything's fine, Fred. Rosie's upstairs - she's only dilated three centimetres at he moment, and it's only when she gets to ten that you need to be rushing around in a flap," his mother laughed. "She's in our room, and she's not feeling too well, so I suggest you go up and see her."  
  
Fred took the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the door cautiously.  
  
"Hey," he said quietly. "How are you doing?" He went to the bed. Rosie was propped up on a mountain of pillows.  
  
She smiled wanly. "I'm ok, I suppose. It's just when the contractions come it's really - oh, God, Fred it's another one!" She clutched the sheets tightly and grimaced. Fred looked distraught.  
  
"What can I do?" he asked worriedly. "Do you want anything? Painkillers?"  
  
Rosie put a hand up to his face.  
  
"I want you to calm down," she whispered. He gave a weak grin, and took her hand. They talked for a bit, he held her hands during the contractions, and the evening wore on.  
  
"George said he'd come along at closing time," Fred studied the clock. "I left him in charge by himself - he's probably blown himself up or something." Rosie laughed. "Well he might have done!" Fred exclaimed. "Everyone knows I'm the practical one."  
  
"Practical?"  
  
"Yes!" he poked her. "And the good-looking one."  
  
Rosie burst out laughing, then made a face.  
  
"Ow. I always thought George was the nicer-looking one myself," she mused.  
  
"Hey! I resent that," Fred swatted her playfully. "We're both as good- looking as each other, thank you very much!"  
  
"Uh huh?"  
  
"Huh," he confirmed.  
  
"Did I hear my brother's wife call me nice-looking?" a voice said from the door. George grinned, and came further in.  
  
"You certainly did," Rosie gave a small smile, and he bent to kiss her.  
  
"Well, I was always the good-looking one," he proclaimed, and wondered why the other two fell about laughing.  
  
  
  
Sweat trickled down her face. She was in the throws of the worst pain she'd ever experienced. Fred was by her side, rubbing her arm and shoulder as she screamed and moaned. They were both sheet white.  
  
"Now, come on, Rosie, I need to take these off now," came Julia's calm voice. Rosie felt a tug at the elastic of her underwear, and she cried out, and held onto them. "Rosie, love, you're very close, now come on." Rosie refused to let go. She wailed in pain.  
  
"Rosie," Fred took her head in his hands. "Rosie, let go, come on. Ssh, it's me, I'm not going to hurt you, come on." She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears and sweat, and found absolute trust and love in those brilliant green eyes. He uncurled her fingers, and slid off her underwear. Julia checked quickly, and gave a small click of her tongue in frustration.  
  
"What?" Fred asked urgently. "What is it?"  
  
"It's a breech." Her manner changed from kindle and soft to quick and professional. "Ok, Rosie, you're going to have to push even harder now, love."  
  
"No," Rosie moaned, slumping back against the pillows. Her skin was covered in a sheen of perspiration, and she felt dizzy.  
  
"Molly, keep bathing her head," Julia told Mrs Weasley. Fred continued to hold Rosie's hand, comforting her and letting her grip his when she desired. George hovered in the doorway.  
  
"George, go and fetch those towels downstairs," Julia bade him.  
  
With rolled up sleeves, Fred took over his mother's job, while Mrs Weasley and George stood by with fresh, clean towels.  
  
"That's right, Rosie, you're doing really well, love!" called Julia.  
  
"Come on, Ro, nearly there," Fred murmured. She turned her face towards him, begging him with her eyes to make the pain stop.  
  
With a strangled scream, Rosie pushed as hard as she could, and suddenly Julia's hands were full. She worked quickly, a look of pure concentration on her face, and cut the umbilical cord. Rosie lay back panting.  
  
"Why isn't it crying?" she sobbed after a minute. "Fred, why isn't it crying?" Julia stood up, and Mrs Weasley and George immediately surrounded her, rubbing away with towels. Rosie was aware of Fred's ashen face looking down at her with unadulterated love and comfort, aware of his hand on her forehead, aware of urgent, frantic voices, and then she passed out. 


	13. Chapter 13 The Angel begins to Live

CHAPTER 14:  
  
Rosie awoke in half-light. It was barely dawn, and the room was filled with a gladdening glow from the sun that was peeping over the hills in the distance. She turned towards the window, shifting herself slowly, painfully onto her right side. She saw that Fred was standing by the wide window, holding a bundle in his arms. The rosy light made his copper hair shimmer and shot it through with crimson streaks.  
  
He heard her moving around, and turned towards the bed. He was wearing a grey roll-neck sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and black jeans. He also had on his slim framed silver reading glasses. They gave him a poetic look, which was not often seen on either of the wild Weasley twins. He smiled at the exhausted girl, and went to the bed.  
  
"You've got a baby girl," he whispered, and sat down so that Rosie could see. She could do nothing but stare. The tiny little thing was so delicate. It was asleep. She found that her eyes were welling up with tears. The baby was so small that Fred could easily hold her with one arm while he stroked the hair back from Rosie's face. He traced the dark circles under her eyes. "Hey, come on," he murmured. "What are you crying for?"  
  
"I thought something had happened," she mumbled, tearfully, and with each word her pounding head got worse.  
  
"We were worried for a while," Fred said quietly. "About you both. You were bleeding, and she wasn't breathing" - Rosie let out a small moan, but Fred continued - "but you're both fine, now. Everything's fine." He carried on stroking her face, because it seemed to calm her, and soothe her tears away.  
  
Just then, Mrs Weasley put her head round the door. She was in her dressing gown, a pink towelling one, and wore slippers on her feet. She was carrying a tray with four mugs on.  
  
"How's my two favourite girls?" she whispered in jubilation. She placed the tray on the chest at the end of the bed, and came to sit on the opposite side of the bed to Fred. "Ah, there we are!" Fred handed the baby to her. Her face lit up, and she gushed over the tiny girl. "How are you, dear?" she asked sympathetically.  
  
"Sore," Rosie mumbled.  
  
"Have some tea dear, it'll warm your tummy up a bit." Mrs Weasley advised. Fred took one of the mugs and helped Rosie sit up. He held the mug with her, as her hands were trembling. George pushed open the door. He was dressed in a grey T-shirt and long shorts. He'd obviously just dragged himself out of bed.  
  
"Hello," he went to Rosie and hugged her carefully. "Come on, Mum, stop hogging her!"  
  
They sat there for a while, examining the new addition, and chattering. Rosie lay down again - she was feeling extremely sore, and her head was still bad.  
  
"How horrible we are!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed suddenly. "Rosie dear, you're exhausted! Let's take this little one and give you some peace." She wrapped up the baby and swept George out of the room with her.  
  
When Rosie woke up again, it was early evening. A cot had been set up in the corner of the room, and in it, the tiny girl lay under a green blanket.  
  
She slid out of bed painfully, and stumbled over to the cot. She reached out to touch the pale skin of her daughter's cheek. The baby woke up at the feeling of Rosie's trembling, cold fingers. She opened her eyes to reveal irises of an intense grey. Rosie struggled to suppress a gasp. She stroked the few dark strands of hair on her baby's head.  
  
This was her daughter. This was Draco's daughter. Draco. Rosie felt a sudden pang in her heart. 'Stop it,' she told herself quietly. 'He's not coming back.'  
  
But however hard she tried, she could not suppress the wish that Draco could see his daughter. The daughter he had never known, and would never know. The daughter, with her mother's hair, and her father's eyes.  
  
Interrupting her thoughts, the daughter in question began to cry. Rosie stumbled back, alarmed and afraid. She smashed her elbow against the bedpost. She fell into the bed, pleading for the noise to stop, to go away. She buried herself under the covers, shaking and upset. That was how Fred found her when he came in.  
  
"Rosie? Are you ok? She's crying, Ro!" Fred exclaimed. He went to the baby, rocked the cot until she quietened down, then went to the bed. "What's the matter?" he asked softly.  
  
"I don't know what to do!" Rosie sobbed. "She just started and she wouldn't stop!"  
  
"Hey, it's alright! She's probably hungry, sweetheart," he tucked her hair behind her ears. "Shall we give it a try? Yeah?" Rosie nodded through her tears, and Fred brought the little thing to the bed. He laid the baby on Rosie's lap, and then his hands moved to her shirt. "Can you remember what Julia told us?" he asked. She nodded, and his careful, strong fingers undid a few buttons. She blushed as his fingers brushed her skin, but he gave her a quick reassuring kiss, and then she took the little child in her arms. Fred helped her guide the baby's mouth to her nipple, and Rosie held her breath expectantly. But the baby did not take to it.  
  
"What is wrong with me?" Rosie cried. "Fred, I can't do anything right!"  
  
"Look, it's alright, Rosie, calm down. Come on, try again. You've never done it before." He cupped the baby's head in his hand, and they tried again. The tiny thing sucked greedily, and Rosie began to smile through her tears. Fred grinned. "There you go! You're a natural!" he laughed. He fell silent, swung his legs up so that he was lyng on his front on the bed, and watched the little girl feed. "What about her name?" he asked suddenly, propping himself up on an elbow. Rosie looked up.  
  
"Well, I thought about - Keaira," she whispered. "It means - it means - little dark one." She watched him, chewing her lip in hope that he wouldn't dislike it. Fred lifted a hand to stroke the baby's head.  
  
"Keaira," Fred murmured, and kissed the little thing's head gently. "Just like her mother." He raised his gaze to Rosie's face. Rosie felt a sudden urge to kiss that dear face, because Fred was a man who'd stuck by her, and given her nothing but love. She felt selfish sometimes; she felt that she didn't give him enough in return. So she did - she put her fingers under his chin and pressed her lips lightly against his.  
  
"What was that for?" Fred asked in surprise when she pulled away. She gazed at him fondly.  
  
"It was for being you. Don't ever change," she laughed, and some of the tension lines that creased her forehead faded away. Fred grinned, and knelt up to kiss her back. It was not often that they engaged in these little sessions, so Fred made the most of it. They only broke apart when Keaira began to cry for her cot. 


	14. Chapter 14 Angel, Hear My Cry

CHAPTER 14  
  
  
  
FRED'S DIARY  
  
  
  
When you moved in with us, I thought Christmas had come early. It was perfect - you, me, George, and Keaira. The way you and George got on warmed my heart - I know there'd been some tension between you two last year. I know all your habits off by heart now. Sharing a room with some one does that to you. The way you get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, every single night without fail. I swear women's bladders are half the size as men's. They way you can't sleep on the left side of the bed. The way your nightdress will get stuck in the back of your underwear when you wake up, no matter how hard you try and not wriggle too much in bed.  
  
Sometimes George will sleep in with us, on the other side of you to me, when he's feeling lonely, or sad. I lie awake and watch the two of you asleep, wondering if we look exactly the same as you and him do, with his arm around your waist. Then he'll roll over in his sleep and take all the duvet, so we push him onto the floor and wrap as much of the cover as we can around us both. He never wakes up though. We had such a laugh.  
  
Now I think something's wrong. You still won't let me touch you -not like that, anyway. It gets me so frustrated, Rosie. We're supposed to be together, supposed to be making love, having fun.  
  
But we're not having fun, are we? Is it the baby? You don't get much rest, being up and down all night, and I'm working so much with George, we don't find much time to be together. When I ask you about it, you just brush it off.  
  
We've been arguing again. About stupid things, like there not being any food in the house, or who forgot to clean the bathroom. George keeps out of our way when we're together.  
  
I wish I knew what to do to make it better. You're still as unresponsive as ever, and I'm short tempered. You've moved into Keaira's room - 'to make getting to her easier'. A lie if I ever heard one. There was a time when we'd share everything, but not any more.  
  
It came to a head today. I called Keaira 'our daughter' when I said that this wasn't fair on her. It would have been better if you'd cried. Anything but what you actually said. You exploded, you smashed glasses, I shouted, and then you went upstairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Alone, and ready to cry. 


	15. Chapter 15 Portrait of the Angels

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by Pink - Family Portrait. Actually, rephrase that - STOLEN form Pink.  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 15  
  
GEORGE'S DIARY  
  
Rosie please stop crying - I can't stand the sound Your pain is painful, and it's tearing me down. I hear glasses breaking as I sit up in your bed Please tell Fred you didn't mean those awful things you said. You fight about money, about me and my brother And this I come home to, this is my shelter It isn't easy living here in World War III I don't want your love for Him to destroy my family.  
  
Can you work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll help with Keaira, I'll do anything. Can you work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll be better, Rosie - please don't leave.  
  
Fred, please stop yelling; I can't stand the sound. Make Rosie stop crying, because I need you both around. I know Rosie loves you, no matter what she says, it's true I know that she hurts you, but remember I love you too.  
  
I went out today, away from the noise, far away. I don't want to come back to this place, but don't have no choice, no way It isn't easy living here in World War III I don't want your love for Him to destroy my family.  
  
Can you work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll help with Keaira, I'll do anything. Can you work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll be better, Rosie - please don't leave.  
  
In our family picture, we look pretty happy Let's play pretend now - let's act like it comes naturally. I don't want to have to leave either of you I don't want two addresses I don't want an estranged 'niece' anyway. And I don't want my twin to be alone.  
  
We will all be nicer It'll be so much better, I'll tell my brother Oh, I won't leave the toilet seat up I'll be so much better, I'll do everything right I'll be your brother and friend forever If you could both just make things right. 


	16. Chapter 16 Driven apart by an Angelshape...

CHAPTER 16  
  
"It's not fair!" Fred shouted. "On you, on me, on George! On our daughter!" Rosie froze. She turned slowly, from the sink where she was drying up.  
  
"She is not our daughter," Rosie hissed.  
  
Fred threw the papers he had been looking at onto the worktop in anger.  
  
"She bloody may as well be! I was there when you gave birth to her - when you could've died giving birth to her! I've given her a home, I've fed her in the middle of the night when you were too tired, I've washed her, clothed her!" he shouted. "And where was her father? Fighting with the Dark Side! He didn't even know she existed!"  
  
"Don't you fucking dare!" Rosie cried. "How could he have known he had a daughter?"  
  
"If he hadn't been so busy messing with your head, he would have!" Fred yelled.  
  
"He would have taken care of her!" Rosie shouted.  
  
"Yeah, in the typical Malfoy way," Fred said sarcastically.  
  
"At least he wouldn't have put on any pretence of loving her, when all he wanted to do was fuck me!" she screamed. Fred fell silent, breathing hard. He stared at her, hurt. "At least he was real! You'll never be her real father, no matter how hard you try and get in my knickers!" With that she picked up a glass jug from the draining rack and threw it as hard as she could to the floor at his feet. He ran forwards, and grabbed her hands. She tried to hit out at him, but she was no match for him. He captured her small fists and held her still. She stared up at him. His throat was dry, and he had to lick his lips. She suddenly wrenched away from him, and ran from the kitchen. Fred gazed after her, then pulled a chair out and sat down heavily on it. He put his head in his hands and began to cry silently. 


	17. Chapter 17 Infestation of Shadow

CHAPTER 17:  
  
The shadow watched. It wallowed in shrouds of black, hating all that was good, and loathing all that was evil. It was nothingness - a pure unadulterated nonentity. It skulked in shadow, never venturing out into sunlight or moonlight for fear of being caught. It watched from a corner where there was pure darkness - not even a speck of light could there be, otherwise the risk of it being seen was imminent. It was goodness and evil, shadow and flame, power and weakness. And it watched. And it listened. It watched everything from the tiniest grains of dust bowled along the pavement, to the slight sway of tall buildings, such was its eyesight. It listened to the constant hum of traffic, and the shrieks of a flower when it is picked, such was its hearing. It could feel the inky blue of night on its skin and taste the White Face and the Yellow Face on its tongue. It was solid, yet transparent, and it was caught between the need to survive and the urgency to warn, and the enveloping desire to die.  
  
It was insignificant.  
  
It was vital.  
  
It was breathing, yet had no bodily functions to do so.  
  
It was everything.  
  
It was nothing. 


	18. Chapter 18 A Family Affair :p

CHAPTER 18:  
  
For an hour Fred sat in the silent kitchen of the two-storey flat above the shop. An hour turned into two, then into evening. He had stopped crying - there were no more tears to cry. His eyes were sore, they stared straight ahead, straight at the wall of photos that the trio had put up. But they didn't see them. His head was hurting from crying so much.  
  
  
  
Rosie lay in the bed she had made up on the floor in Keaira's room. The little girl was wailing, but her mother made no move to see to her. Her eyes were sore - sore from crying all the tears that had been building up over the past few weeks. Molly had told her about post-natal depression - but it wasn't supposed to last for nearly a year was it? She felt small, when she thought about what she'd said to Fred, but still she could not shake off His last touch.  
  
  
  
The doorbell rang. Fred shouted in his head. George had forgotten his wand when he'd gone to the school to meet Charlie and Bill. It was ridiculous - they could've just Apparated, but no. They had to make Fred get up and walk to the door. Just as he reached the kitchen door, he heard Rosie's footsteps going to the door. He drew back and leaned his pounding head against the cold wall.  
  
  
  
A look at Rosie's red rimmed eyes told George that they'd been fighting again. He felt despair - he loved them both, but this had been going on too long.  
  
A look at Rosie's face told Charlie that something was desperately wrong.  
  
A look at Rosie's face told Bill that this Christmas, apart from being very crowded, was not going to be the usual cheerful affair.  
  
She stood back, and let them carry their bags in. They slipped out of their snow-dusted robes, and hung them up on the pegs just inside the door. Rosie stood quietly by the stairs.  
  
"Rosie," Charlie said, gently pressing her with his words. "Keaira's crying." Rosie looked up at him, almost surprised. Charlie knew then that something was terribly wrong. "Go into the lounge with Bill. I'll see to her, ok?" she nodded, and Bill took her hand and led her into the lounge. Charlie made his way upstairs.  
  
George stared after them, then went into the kitchen. He knew from the oppressive silence in there that Fred was there. He saw Fred, still leaning against the wall, and went to him. Fred looked at his twin with troubled, upset eyes, and George slipped an arm round his twin's waist, and one round his shoulders, and pulled him into a comforting, protective hug. The lump in Fred's throat that had been there since the argument dissolved, painfully and slowly. In halting words, Fred told George exactly what happened.  
  
Bill sat Rosie down on the sofa. He poured her a shot of vodka - "One thing Muggles actually do better than Wizards," - and made her drink it down slowly.  
  
"Now," he said when she'd finished. "Tell me."  
  
Rosie told him. She'd made great friends out of the Weasleys when she'd spent that first summer with them. She'd already been friends with Ron through Hermione, and George through Fred, of course. Ginny was really funny when you got through the shy exterior. She'd been a little scared of the two eldest Weasley brothers, but soon found out that Charlie shared her love of all things mystical, including dragons of course, and had been there to offer advice when she needed it. After Bill stumbled across her CD collection and discovered how a personal CD player worked, he had been eager to chat with her about music. From there they had developed a mutual interest and liking for each other.  
  
She didn't leave out a single detail. She was beginning to cry again by the time she'd finished, and to try and hide her tears she reached for the bottle. Bill let her. Maybe if she fell asleep she'd at least get some rest. When he got up to draw the curtains and shut the door, she swallowed straight from the bottle.  
  
"I love him so much!" Rosie sobbed. "I didn't mean to say horrible things to him, I didn't! And now he hates me!"  
  
When she began to slur her words together, Bill took her glass away.  
  
"He doesn't hate you," he began, reaching for the glass, and silencing her protests. "But you need to talk, and sort this all out." He smoothed her hair back from her hot forehead, and touched her cheek comfortingly. Rosie made a sudden lunge for her glass, which he held in his other hand, missed, and fell on top of him. She looked down at his good-looking face sadly.  
  
"I love you, Bill," she murmured, a few tears running down her face.  
  
"No, you don't, you're drunk," Bill said firmly.  
  
"No, I do," she whispered, and kissed his lips softly. She ran her fingers through his soft pony tail.  
  
Bill froze. What the hell was happening? His brother's partner was on top of him, kissing him with the softest touches imaginable, sending shivers and tingles through his body, and he was just lying there, taking it. He immediately tried to push Rosie off, but she moved her mouth to the skin under his ear and sank her teeth in gently.  
  
Bill gasped. The action was so simple, and yet Bill found it incredibly arousing.  
  
"Does it hurt?" she murmured, her lips still touching his sensitive skin. Bill could only nod - to his horror he felt himself beginning to get hard. The sensations rushing through him were like nothing else he'd ever experienced. He kept telling himself that this was wrong, he should stop it, but everywhere she touched him, it sent so much pleasure that he couldn't. He arched up into her touches, half of him wanting more, the other half desperately protesting. When she reached between his legs, he squirmed with hopeless abandon, and a low moan escaped his throat.  
  
Usually his sex life consisted of unintentional one-night-stands with drop dead gorgeous young women whilst looking for a nice girl. He had a habit of picking up the wrong type. A night of hot sex, then they'd left before he'd got up. No wonder Draco and Fred had been infatuated with this girl, if at a simple touch she could send them spiralling out of control.  
  
"It's nice when it hurts, isn't it, Bill?" she whispered, moving away from his trousers, and trailing a line of kisses along his throat. He nodded again, all these thoughts whirling in his mind, trying desperately to get himself under control. "Draco taught me that." One of her tears dripped onto his face.  
  
At that, warning signals erupted in his brain. Draco. If he could teach someone to completely submit at another's touch, he must be the most fantastic lover in the world. Now he understood. No wonder this was driving Rosie crazy. Draco's touches had sent Rosie over the edge, much like she was doing to him now, except probably a hundred times more intense. But this was wrong - there had not been complications with Rosie and Draco. Not till later, anyway.  
  
No wonder this was tearing Fred apart.  
  
Bill was halfway there. He understood the way Rosie felt about Draco physically. But not mentally, because they had never told anyone about - things.  
  
"Rosie," Bill croaked. "Rosie, stop." He sat up, and she fell backwards into his lap. She clung to him, crying again.  
  
"Bill?" Charlie's voice came from the door. "What the hell's going on?"  
  
Rosie turned at the sound of Charlie's voice.  
  
"She's drunk, Charlie. But I understand now. Some of it, anyway. Take her up to bed - I'll need to talk to you later." Charlie nodded, puzzled. He took Rosie round the waist and shoulders, and helped her upstairs into bed.  
  
"No, I can't go in there!" she moaned.  
  
"Why not, Ro?"  
  
"'Cos Fred hates me," she slurred.  
  
"Come on," Charlie dragged her in, and onto the double bed. He sat on the edge, and covered her with the duvet. "How much did you have to drink?"  
  
"Not very much," she mumbled, moving around restlessly. Charlie chuckled in disbelief.  
  
"I think you should get some rest, until the effects wear off, and then you need to sit down with Fred and talk this all out. Otherwise you'll be miserable, and Christmas will be a sorry state of affairs."  
  
"I don't want to go to bed!" she started to get out, but he stopped her. "I want to help decorate the tree."  
  
"We won't do it till you're ok, ok?"  
  
"Ok." She lay back down. "I love you, Charlie," she murmured as her eyes began to close.  
  
"You tried that one on Bill. I'm more resistant than he is," Charlie grinned.  
  
"I do," she moaned.  
  
"Yeah, I know. I love you too." He got up, and left the door open.  
  
Rosie lay in the darkness for a couple of hours. She couldn't sleep. She felt the effects of the alcohol wear off, and her head stabilised. She heard footfalls on the carpet outside. Bill came in, his wand lighting up his features.  
  
"Feeling better?" he smiled. She nodded. He sat down in the gloom.  
  
"Sorry, Bill. About before. I think I drunk too much," she said quietly.  
  
"Hey, it's ok," he said, squeezing her hand.  
  
"What's the time?"  
  
"Just gone midnight. The others are downstairs if you want to go down. Hermione and Co. have arrived."  
  
"I want to talk to Fred."  
  
"Are you sure?" he scrutinised her carefully.  
  
"Before it's too late. But I - I don't know what to say," she whispered.  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You know what the problem is?" Bill leant forward. Rosie nodded miserably. "Every time Fred gets in your bed, Draco's right there in between you."  
  
"I know. I think that's why we've never - we haven't - um" she tried to explain part of her fears.  
  
"You haven't had sex with him?" Bill finished for her gently. Rosie blushed in the dark. "Never?"  
  
"No. I wanted to, but I couldn't. He wants me to be happy with it, I know he does, but it's not fair on him. And sometimes I get scared that - that" she swallowed.  
  
"That what? You'll get pregnant again? Fred will use protection," he reminded her.  
  
"No, not that."  
  
"Then what? That it'll hurt?" Bill found her hand in the dark. "Just tell him how you want him to, erm - talk to him first, and let him know."  
  
"No, Bill. I'm scared that - somehow it'll take Draco away from me," she said in a small voice. "He's the only one I - well, you know, and I can't help thinking that I'll have lost him completely. It'll wipe me clean of him. It's nothing to do with Fred personally - I love him so much - but I'm still in love with the past."  
  
Bill said nothing. He couldn't think of anything to say.  
  
"He loves you," he said at last, "and you've got Keaira. She's part of Draco. And part of you. You'll always have her."  
  
"I can't let go, Bill. I've tried, and I've tried. It's been a long time. I can't."  
  
"You don't have to," Bill whispered softly. "You won't ever have to. But every time you come" - Rosie inhaled sharply, and went red. She was glad it was almost dark - "try not to picture his face instead of Fred's."  
  
His words were blunt. They were the truth, though. And Rosie knew he was right. 


	19. Chapter 19 Will memories of pain take it...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This takes place in the couple of hours just after Charlie put Rosie to bed.  
  
CHAPTER 19:  
  
Bill sat opposite Charlie at the table in the small kitchen. Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Ron had arrived, and were all in the lounge with Fred and George.  
  
"She was kissing me," Bill began. Charlie interrupted.  
  
"I know, Bill! What the bloody hell were you thinking?"  
  
Bill looked annoyed at the hindrance.  
  
"Let me bloody finish, Charlie!" he said, irritated. Charlie motioned for him to carry on. "Anyway, like I was saying, she kissed me. She'd obviously been drinking too much - which was my fault - but now I'm glad she did. So she was going on about Fred, and how much she loved him, but he hated her, and then she told me she loved me."  
  
Charlie laughed out loud, in spite of himself, remembering his earlier conversation with Rosie. "Sorry - carry on."  
  
"She just started kissing me. But then she - she bit me."  
  
"She bit you?!"  
  
"Yeah. But it was - so - I" Bill struggled to find the right words. Charlie looked at him, puzzled. Bill gave up trying to evade saying the imminent, and just said it. "Charlie, I almost came in my jeans right there."  
  
"So - what are you saying?" Charlie asked slowly.  
  
"The way she could do that to me. She asked me if she was hurting me, and then when I said yes, she told me that Draco taught her how to do it. Now I know part of what she's feeling - if he touched her anything like the way she did me, no wonder she's like this." Bill shook his head in disbelief and mystification.  
  
"And if I know anything about Draco, its that he must've had some fine tales to tell Rosie about his home. And you know the states she used to come home in," Charlie said darkly. "It can't have been just physical - they must've had a connection, or empathy of some kind with each other."  
  
"I think - we've just got to try and support her. Let her know that we're here if she needs us. This must have just been building up. I'll go up and talk to her in a bit."  
  
Charlie nodded, and they went next door to join the party.  
  
Upstairs, Rosie was snapping the plastic out of her razor. She picked up one of the blades, and dragged it along the faint scar that ran in a straight line to her hand. The one He had given her. It was only a scratch- cut. Nothing big. She pressed her bath-towel to it, and shut her eyes.  
  
"I won't say goodbye, love," she murmured to herself, forcing the tears that lurked behind her closed eyelids to diminish. "But I've got to look forward now. For our daughter." 


	20. Chapter 20 You're having a laugh!

CHAPTER 20:  
  
She scribbled the words 'I'm sorry' on a sheet of parchment. Carefully stepping over the sleeping forms of Bill and Charlie, she went out into the landing to push it under George's door. She knew Fred would wake soon - he always woke at dawn. Then she went back to bed.  
  
Cooking breakfast for nine people and a hungry toddler on Christmas Eve was no mean feat. Hermione and Ginny undertook the task, as Rosie wasn't up yet. Scrambled eggs and tea or coffee with toast. There was only room for four at the table, so Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George set to in the kitchen, and the rest diverged to the lounge. Rosie came clunking downstairs in her dressing gown. Hermione handed her a plate, and Rosie took it through, with a mug of tea. Fred looked up, and Rosie thought she saw the ghost of a smile make his eyes crinkle up.  
  
After breakfast, they set about decorating. The Dream Team and Charlie went outside, because they fancied trying to make an igloo, while the rest stayed in the warmth. George hung up silvery garlands along the stairwell, with Bill holding him there with a Levitation Charm. It probably would've been easier to just levitate the garlands up there, but George was always a one for trying new things!  
  
Ginny was making paper chains the Muggle way - licking and sticking gummed paper. Rosie began to sort through some tinsel and baubles. She stood up with armfuls, and handed them to Fred to put on the tree. His pale face cracked into a small smile, and Rosie smiled back. When they'd all finished, the flat looked as festive as it was possible to get it.  
  
The others came in, red and windswept. The construction of the 'Igloo to rival all Igloos' was a complete failure. While the kettle was put on, and Ron and Harry set about conjuring up some cake from somewhere, Fred took Rosie's arm.  
  
"We should talk now," he whispered. He took her hand, and took her upstairs. Once in their bedroom - which they had not both slept in for a long time - they sat down on the bed, facing each other.  
  
"What I said was cruel," Rosie said quietly. "It was wrong. You've been a brilliant father to Keaira, Fred."  
  
Fred looked straight at her.  
  
"What I want to know is," he swallowed hard, " if I should just give up now. Keaira needs a stable home, Rosie. With a mum and a dad who both love her. I can do that - but only if you can. You've cut yourself again - they'll take her away, Rosie. If you keep doing that you will lose her." He had raised his voice because Rosie was shaking her head. "She's all that's left of him! If you truly love Him, you will honour Him, and look after His daughter!" Rosie's head snapped up. "I love you. I have since we were at school. This is making up your mind time. It's me, and Keaira, or Him, and nothing." His voice was hard, and cool.  
  
"I need you, Fred. I can't do it without you. I'm sorry - I'm so sorry." She kept repeating the words over and over. Fred reached out and touched her. She moved into his arms, relishing the warmth, and the security of his touch. "I love you," she whispered.  
  
"I thought I'd lost you," Fred admitted. "Once was enough."  
  
She kissed him on his mouth gently. He tasted sweet, and the ferocity with which he kissed her back made her tremble. She didn't feel ready, but it had been so long, she felt that she should be ready, this was what Fred wanted, he would make sure it was gentle, she owed him so much, she had hurt him so badly -  
  
"Marry me."  
  
Fred's hoarse voice whispered, interrupting her inner monologue of thoughts and fears. She pushed him back from her, to find that he was staring at her with a high, piercing light in his green eyes. His face was still pale, but the light in his eyes made him look alive.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Marry me." His voice had lost all emotion, except perhaps a slight coldness, which portrayed his fear of refusal.  
  
"Is that what you want?" Rosie whispered incredulously. "After me hurting you so many times?"  
  
"I don't want to lose you again. Maybe if we were properly together, we could make it work." He paused. "You've been a complete bitch, Rosie. And I know sometimes I've scared you, and made you cry. But if we can put this behind us, we can do it." His voice was level, his eyes were bright.  
  
"When?" Rosie whispered.  
  
"Now. Today."  
  
Her mouth hung open.  
  
"Fred, there isn't time, we haven't done any-" he interrupted her by placing a finger to her lips.  
  
"Who says there isn't time?" he whispered, face glowing. "All we need to do is tell who we want to, get something to wear, and go to the registry."  
  
"Are you serious?" she asked tentatively.  
  
"Never been more so. Of course - Mum won't be happy. She'll have wanted a new hat." He said this so seriously that Rosie started to laugh.  
  
"No fucking way!" she giggled.  
  
Gone was the tension, and the misery that had beset them, and gone were their amorous advances. Fred jumped up, and they stood at the top of the stairs.  
  
"George won't like it that I beat him to it," Fred chuckled. Rosie squeezed his hand. They descended the stairs slowly. A sea of red heads looked up at them, with a brown and a black head dotted in amongst them.  
  
"Is everything ok?" George burst out, unable to contain himself. Fred looked sideways at Rosie.  
  
"We're getting married," he said nonchalantly. George gaped, then Ginny squealed, and Hermione put her hands over her mouth. Everyone crowded round, patting Fred on the back, and kissing the pair. Rosie found Bill grasping her hand, and she smiled a bit at him.  
  
"So when's the big day, bruv?" George wouldn't let go of his twin's arm.  
  
"Today, actually," Fred grinned at their shocked faces. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing his twin's white face.  
  
"It's Mum - she'll kill you," George croaked. "She won't have time to buy a new hat."  
  
They all burst out laughing. "Seriously, Fred, you can't! They're going away this evening! That's why we're all here, remember?"  
  
Fred chewed his lip thoughtfully. Rosie watched him. It had seemed such a good idea at the time -  
  
"Well then," he said at last. "We'll just have to get a move on, won't we?" He turned to Rosie, smiling broadly. "Ok, go and get your coat!"  
  
When Rosie met the others by the fireplace in the shop, they were talking to Mrs Weasley's head in the fire.  
  
"Really, Fred, you're incorrigible - we'll have barely enough time to get to Egypt before dark!" She caught sight of Rosie, and her stern face broke into a smile. "Oh, dear me! I'm just so - so happy! We'll meet you at the registry office in Diagon Alley." With a puff of purple smoke, her head disappeared.  
  
George picked up the pot of Floo Powder on the hearth. One by one, they shouted the words 'Diagon Alley' and then met the others in the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
"Ok," Hermione looked at her watch, whilst trying to see past Keaira's flailing limbs, "you have about one hour to get Fred into a suit, have a ten minute stag night, find a ring of some kind, and get him to the registry office." She turned and grinned at Ginny and Rosie. Rosie had a bit of a shell-shocked expression on her face. "Dress time!"  
  
She took Rosie's arm and marched her into Madam Malkins'. The shop was empty of other customers, and was stacked to the walls with boxes, rolls of rich fabrics, and robes on hangers. The assistant, a short dumpy little witches sprung up from behind a rack.  
  
"How can I help, ladies?" she asked cheerfully. Hermione stepped forward.  
  
"We need a dress. My friend here's getting married today, and it's got to be something nice," she said firmly. The little witch gulped, and then beckoned Rosie forward. She made her step up onto a stool, and began to take her measurements.  
  
"I haven't made a wedding dress in a long time, dear! But you'll find no finer elsewhere!" the witch grinned in a friendly manner. "Now - colour. Have you any thoughts?"  
  
Rosie hadn't a clue. She was still reeling from the shock of Fred's proposal, and the fact that in less than an hour, she would be married. So she just shrugged, while Hermione tapped her foot impatiently.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, but we have less than an hour" she explained to the witch.  
  
"Not to worry, dearie - we will be done with time to spare! Now - red, I think. A nice dark crimson."  
  
Quickly and efficiently, the little witch pinned and trimmed then swished her wand at the pile of fabric pieces. The cut outs arranged themselves, and seamed themselves together beautifully.  
  
The finished dress was exquisite. Deep red folds of satin fabric. It was long, and went in at the right places, and out at the right ones too.  
  
Rosie handed over the dressmaker's fee with trembling hands. She held the dress up out of the mud as they walked hastily down the street. They stopped to buy a small spray consisting of a red rose and ivy, in a small flower shop.  
  
"Where's the registry office, Ginny?" Rosie asked softly.  
  
"Just down here," Ginny led them down the busy street further, until they came to an arched door with a brass knocker.  
  
"Alright?" Hermione asked quietly.  
  
"I feel sick," Rosie said in a small voice. Ginny squeezed her hand, and they pushed the door open. 


	21. Chapter 21 Union

CHAPTER 21:  
  
Inside the office, an old wizard with a curly grey beard was waiting for them.  
  
"Miss Whittaker?" he asked pleasantly. Rosie's mouth was so dry that she could only nod. "If I may see your wand, please?"  
  
Rosie pulled her wand out of her sleeve, and the old wizard looked down its length, and examined it closely. Rosie wondered what her wand had to do with being married, but all was revealed when the wizard took what she recognised as Fred's from his pocket. He waved his hand over the two, and muttered a few words under his breath. The two seemed to glow warmly suddenly. The old man smiled, and proceeded to tie the two together with a white ribbon.  
  
"And now, Miss Whittaker - if you'll follow me?" the old wizard opened the double doors at the end of the hall. Ginny suddenly grabbed Rosie's arm.  
  
"Rosie," she said breathlessly. "I - I just wanted to say that - well, I know I haven't been as nice to you as I could have been in the past - when we were at school - but now - " Rosie interrupted.  
  
"Ginny, if anyone should apologise, it should be me, ok?" she said hoarsely. "And I'm terrified enough as it is already, so can we just get started?" she laughed nervously. They turned to the doors, and went through. It was a hall - stone walls, and tall pillars supporting the ceiling. There were a few small, dusty windows, and tall candlesticks stood on the flagstone floor. Rosie was so busy taking in her surroundings that she almost forgot what they had come for. She looked forwards into the half- light and saw Fred's face gazing at her, proudly. She immediately felt self- conscious, and tugged at the skirt of her dress. Hermione poked her in the back to force her to walk forwards, but Rosie couldn't hold Fred's gaze when she reached his side, and instead looked at the old wizard.  
  
"Rose Whittaker," he looked at Rosie, "and Frederick Weasley - you have come here today to join together in marriage. By the power vested in me, I ask you to commit yourselves to each other, to hold no other as high in your affections, and to honour each other. Do you both solemnly swear to uphold these vows?" His gaze lingered on each on them in turn. "I do," Fred and Rosie both said. Fred turned to Rosie, and took her trembling hand. She looked down at her hand, and saw his shaking fingers slide a cool, narrow band of silver onto her finger.  
  
"Then I pronounce you one in the eyes of all who look upon you," the old wizard said gravely. "You may kiss your bride."  
  
Fred's hand moved from her wrist to brush the side of her face. She forced herself to look up, saw the longing in his eyes, smiled a tiny smile, felt her heart break and mend itself again, and stretched up to place her lips gently against his. When she pulled back, she felt happier than she had been for a long time.  
  
Mr and Mrs Weasley had offered tearful congratulations, and had Apparated. They were due in Egypt that night, and were not able to stay for the party that ensued. Both slightly dazed, Fred and Rosie were dragged back to the flat, via the fireplace in The Leaky Cauldron. The following few hours were a whirl of colour, music, drink and sparkling decorations. Christmas Eve finally felt like what it was. Nevertheless, even as George waltzed Rosie round the kitchen, she could not shake off the thought that soon she and Fred would be upstairs in bed together. But she could not refuse, or bottle out - she didn't want to, it was just that it had been so long, since she had been touched. This was Fred's night just as much as hers, and she would do her best to make it special for him.  
  
Finally, everyone was so tipsy and tired, that gradually they trudged upstairs to bed, to look forward to the next was day, Christmas Day. Soon only Rosie and Bill remained in the kitchen, and Fred and George in the living room. Rosie yawned as she tipped the contents of half empty glasses down the sink.  
  
"Don't get too sleepy," Bill grinned, "We can't have you falling asleep on your wedding night!" Rosie swiped him with a towel in mock indignation. George came in to drag Bill off. He slipped Rosie a wink, and pushed Bill up the stairs. She went through to the living room. Fred was looking out of the window. He turned, and smiled softly. Rosie went forward to take his hand. Without words, they went up the stairs, turning off the lights. They met George coming out of their room, shaking his wand. He disappeared into his own room with a quick grin. Pushing the door open, they saw that hundreds of tiny candles, all with different coloured flames, had been lit - some were hovering in the air, some sat on the dresser and window sill.  
  
"Fred," Rosie whispered. "I think - I've healed up a lot, since Keaira, and I might not -"  
  
"It's ok," Fred murmured. "It'll be alright." He kissed her, tasting her lips, and running his tongue along her bottom one, coaxing her lips apart. His hands explored her pale skin, touching here, caressing there, and divesting her of her clothes. Feeling his hot breath on her ear, whispering a contraceptive spell, she undid the buttons of the beautiful white shirt he had worn at the registry. His jacket, and also his cravat, had disappeared whilst the party had been in full swing downstairs. She trembled when she touched his warm skin, bare and smooth under her fingertips. Slipping out of the rest of their clothes, they sank onto the bed, which Hermione had thoughtfully made up with clean, fresh sheets. Not wanting to rush her, Fred pulled her up, so that they sat upright in the middle of the bed, legs entwined round each other. He kissed her shoulder, then looked at her face, to read her expression. She was breathing quietly, but fitfully. He placed another kiss on her lips, and she relaxed a bit.  
  
The candlelight flickered and danced along the walls, cast their faces in alternate shadow and flame, and made silhouettes of objects on the floor.  
  
Ginny, getting out of her warm cocoon to get a drink of water from the bathroom, was drawn with curiosity to the bedroom door, which was ajar. She peered through the slight gap, and saw the two in each other's arms. Fred was sitting, facing away from her, and Rosie was resting her chin on his shoulder, while he licked and nuzzled at her neck. The sight of them, what they were doing, and the fact that it was her brother, didn't gross her out. Rosie half-shut her eyes with pleasure then opened them when she caught sight of Ginny. She smiled slightly, then forgot everything as Fred nipped her neck. Ginny watched, fascinated. She turned away when Fred leant forward, pushing his young wife down into the pillows. She didn't want to watch their most intimate moments, but she felt warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
Fred awoke first. He was too comfortable to move, but then recollection of the night's events came flooding back to him as his wife stirred next to him.  
  
'My wife,' he thought. 'Bloody hell!' He chuckled to himself, remembering the day before. He rolled onto his side to look down at her. She was sleeping deeply, clutching a handful of the pillow, hair escaping the green band that held it back. She mumbled something in her sleep, and wriggled around a bit. She sighed, and pressed her face against Fred's arm. He kissed her bare shoulder, and tucked her dark hair behind her ear. At the movement, Rosie opened her eyes.  
  
"Happy Christmas," Fred murmured, stroking her hair. She stretched and sat up. Looking down and realising she had nothing on, she hastily pulled the sheet around her.  
  
"Happy Christmas," she whispered, looking down at him. She took in the sight of his bare torso - lean chest and flat stomach. A few freckles, dotting his creamy skin. If he wasn't wearing anything on the top, that meant he probably didn't have anything on underneath - and she didn't have anything on, that was plain, so that meant -  
  
She lay down again, realisation sinking in. She was married to this gorgeous man, and last night they had -  
  
"Was it alright?" she whispered, not able to meet his eyes. Last time the question had come forth from her lips, she had been met with a heart-load of grief. For an answer, Fred launched himself forward and crushed his mouth on hers. When he pulled away, she was quivering, with something between happiness and excitement.  
  
"I've never come like that before," he muttered into her ear, and his low chuckle tickled her. She looked at him, at his green eyes full of satisfaction, love and laughter. "How are you feeling?" he asked as they snuggled up closer.  
  
"Really sore," Rosie admitted, blushing. It had been very slow, sensual and loving, but it had hurt her like hell. He kissed the top of her head.  
  
"Sorry," he grinned ruefully, taking her hand, and running a finger over the ring he'd put there the day before.  
  
"It'll be easier next time," she said, assuredly. "Hopefully," she added, wryly. "What's the time?"  
  
Fred leaned over to look at the clock on the dresser.  
  
"Bloody hell, it's nearly eleven!" he exclaimed. "The others will've been up for hours!"  
  
"Hermione's gonna kill me," Rosie groaned. "She wanted to cook the Christmas dinner Muggle style!"  
  
Fred burst out laughing. "I think she'll forgive you just this once," he said, and wrapping his arms round her, they burrowed deeper into the covers. Rosie relished the feel of his skin against hers, safe in the knowledge that they were together and in love.  
  
  
  
"Why can't Rosie help? You two and Harry are the only ones who know about this kind of stuff," Ron grumbled, as Hermione loaded him with a sack of potatoes and a scrubbing brush.  
  
"Because she's in bed with your brother, they've just got married, and I think they deserve a little peace, don't you?" Hermione scolded.  
  
"It's a little thing called 'romance', Ron - you might want to look it up some time," Ginny added, dumping a frozen turkey onto the table. Ron hurumphed quietly, and set to with Harry to scrub the potatoes. Hermione gave orders; the others followed them. Keaira knelt on a chair at the table, rolling an onion across the table. Soon the smell made her eyes water, and Ginny had to abandon her turkey and give her a cuddle and bathe her eyes.  
  
About half and hour later, Rosie and Fred came downstairs.  
  
"Morning all," Fred grinned, resting his head on top of Rosie's. 


	22. Chapter 22 Breaking

CHAPTER 22  
  
There were happy times. There were birthdays - Keaira's first in February, the twins' 20th in April. There were stressful times - when the shop wasn't profiting. There were blissful times and sad times. The world turned its usual course, and life went on, as normal as it could be in the wizarding world.  
  
There was a wonderful time when Rosie discovered she was pregnant again. The baby would be due in March, and nothing could make Fred happier. As the summer wore on, the days grew hotter and stickier, and frayed tempers were abound with the weather. Bill and Ginny came to spend the summer with the twins and Rosie, and were a help to Rosie as her slight bump began.  
  
But the turning world had one more spanner to throw in the works. Fred returned home from a visit to the school to find George trying to get into the bathroom. Rosie had locked herself in.  
  
"Alohomora," Fred muttered, and pushed open the door. He expected - well, he did not know what to expect. Rosie was sitting on the toilet, staring at the wall. Her jeans were round her ankles, and her hands lay loosely in her lap.  
  
"Rosie?" Fred asked. "Ro, what are you doing?" He knelt by her, and took her hand. She opened her mouth to speak.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, still staring straight ahead.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Fred was puzzled. "Are you in pain?"  
  
"Yes," she nodded, still speaking in that deathly quiet voice.  
  
"Let me see, Ro," Fred said softly, and eased apart her legs. The implications of what he saw didn't register at first in his mind. Then the full enormity dawned on him, and a lump came to his throat so huge that he couldn't speak. The crimson stains between her thighs stamped themselves on his mind, kicking him in the teeth. His child was gone. Swallowing desperately, he stood, and then pulled Rosie to her feet, easing her trousers up. He helped her stagger to their room.  
  
"Call Mum," he said weakly to George.  
  
"Sometimes these things just happen," Mrs Weasley held her son tightly as he sobbed into her shoulder. "I can't give you an explanation dear," she sighed. Fred lifted his tear-streaked face.  
  
"I haven't asked for much," his voice ghosted. "I've kept quiet, and I've tried to cope as best I can. This is too much, Mum! This can't happen to us! It's taken so long to - to leave the past in the past, and then something like this happens! That was my son, or my daughter!" "I know, I know, Fred!" Molly caught her son's face in her hands. "This isn't easy on anyone! Least of all you! But there's nothing you can do, love! I know it's harsh, but it's the truth. You can try for another baby!"  
  
"I don't want another baby, I want this one!" he practically screamed, then fell into her arms again.  
  
Rosie sat in bed dressed in a cotton gown with the white sheets pulled up around her, propped up by pillows. A dark blue box lay on the bed.  
  
"I swore I'd never look at these again," she whispered. "At least, not for a long time. Years."  
  
Hermione watched Rosie carefully. All the laughter and hope that Fred had brought her was gone. She remained a shell of her former self. Red-eyed and white faced, lying in this too-white room made her look like a patient in an institution. The girl lifted the lid from the box, and took out a sheaf of photographs. Some were black and white, some were coloured, and all were moving.  
  
"Digging up the past won't change things," Hermione whispered sadly. "Know that, Rosie."  
  
"Of course it won't," Rosie hissed. "But it can make me forget for a little while." In silence she looked through the photos. All were of her and Draco. Draco holding her still whilst she tried to escape the camera's glare. Draco sliding his arm around her waist to capture her from behind. Draco's face pressing up against her neck, whilst she played with his hair. In all of them, Draco was the possessive one. Protective, authoritative, attentive.  
  
"I've tried to let it go. To let him go," Rosie murmured. "But how do you keep going when one half of your soul is missing?"  
  
"Draco's dead!" Hermione's voice rang out shrilly. Rosie raised her face to look at her friend.  
  
"Don't you think I don't know that?" Her voice knifed through the tense air. "Don't you think I haven't cried myself to sleep night after night, knowing that? Don't you think I haven't felt like I've been torn in two since we were told?"  
  
"Rosie, I didn't mean - " Hermione began, immediately regretting her outburst.  
  
"Just when I thought I'd buried him, and found myself loving again, I find out that I've failed again."  
  
"It wasn't your fault. None of this was."  
  
"I wanted to give Fred a child!" Rosie hissed; her eyes bright with unshed tears. "He has tried so hard to help me get over Draco, and the least I could do would be to give him what he wants!"  
  
"It's not your fault, Rosie," Hermione repeated firmly. "Look, lie back down, you'll only do more damage to yourself, please."  
  
"More damage?" Rosie's voice was barely above a whisper, as she stared incredulously at her friend, and began to laugh quietly. "What more damage could I possibly do?"  
  
Hermione pulled the cover up around her friend, and tried to tug the pictures out of her hand.  
  
"Leave them," Rosie hissed. "Leave them."  
  
So Hermione left her in the bed, a slender frame swamped by the white pillows and duvet. Rosie laid the pictures out in rows on her lap. Fred had never seen the pictures. She hadn't been sure of what he might have said if he knew. She had reasoned with herself, with the fact that he and George had an album full of the Quidditch team, namely Angelina and Alicia, but it was hardly the same thing. All these thoughts were banished from her mind, as she turned her attention to the photos once more. He was such a beautiful creature. Beautiful wasn't the word to describe a male, but dictionaries would have to make an exception for Draco Malfoy. Fair hair usually made people looked tanned, sun-bleached; but his silvery locks made him look as pale as marble. Rosie had always loved his hair. However she ran her fingers through it, however he moved, it always fell back into the same place. It was longish, falling into his eyes and feathery at the back. And his eyes. His eyes could pierce her - see through to her heart and mind, always knowing, always watching. Iridescent eyes the colour of steel, grey clouds and smoke, that could withhold so much information, yet extract it from others so easily. Defined jawline, perfect lines of shoulders, collarbones and narrow waist. Not overly muscular, but it was evident that there was strength in the toned body. Flawless. Even the bruises seemed to blend in like watercolours.  
  
Rosie sighed, looking at one coloured picture of the two of them in the abandoned bathroom. She remembered that a snotty Ravenclaw prefect had cornered Colin Creevey, and ordered him to get a picture of the Malfoy heir's subversive activities. Rosie hadn't noticed the small boy slip into the bathroom, but Draco had, and with subtle movements had managed to manoeuvre himself round so that he, not Rosie, was facing the camera. He looked Colin straight in the eyes, both knowing that the other had seen the other, and Draco, keeping his eyes on the camera, had proceeded to - well, to play up to the camera. Colin, embarrassed at Draco's rather obvious enjoyment of the situation, had tried to tiptoe out, but Draco had called out, "Take the picture, Creevey, then give me the camera." The result was a photograph of a very lustful fumble, with Draco's bitter satisfaction written all over his face, daring Colin to publish the picture.  
  
The house was so quiet. Rosie drifted from room to room like a wraith. She had been told it could be dangerous for her to have another child in the future, because she simply was not strong enough, and would lose too much blood, if the miscarriage and Keaira's birth were anything to go by. It was not impossible, but would be very difficult for her. Fred had fallen into her arms the night after the miscarriage, and they had lain awake till dawn, mourning the loss of a life that had not even been given a chance. He was devastated, and she was in a state of depression having suffered another heavy blow to their future. The atmosphere was just waiting for something to snap. One link in the chain to drop. One bend in the will of the Gods. One sigh.  
  
And then the Gods all sighed together. 


	23. Chapter 23 An Angel Rises

CHAPTER 23  
  
The warm summer turned into the harshest winter Rosie had ever seen. The wind was biting, the frost cruel, and the snow thick and heavy. The small house was lifeless. George spent days away at a time on promotion deals, just so that he could escape and find a few friendly smiles and some laughter. Fred worked overtime. He returned home late each evening, pale faced and with sore red eyes. Rosie was preparing Keaira for her first school, teaching her letters and numbers, keeping the house excessively tidy, and cooking for its occupants. She was worn out. She had not listened to the advice of the doctor, and hadn't rested enough after her miscarriage. She was absolutely exhausted. Fred and Rosie slept in the same bed, shared the same shower, drank from the same cup, held each other tightly, but never anything more. Maybe they were just too fatigued. Maybe there was just nothing left to give each other. They rarely spoke to each other, or to anyone else.  
  
One day, George opened the morning mail to find an owl from Charlie. He was engaged; to a young woman called Tania. George replied at once, saying that they could have the engagement party there. It would be just the thing to lift his brother and friend out of the unsettled, strained atmosphere into which they had sunk. He went upstairs to find them and tell them. George was worried - it was not like Fred to be like this. He had always been the instigator of the mischief - George had come up with the stratagems, and Fred had organised the pull-off. Everything had gone so well for a time after the marriage, but now there was nothing. Just shadows of happiness. Echoes of a time when there had been rascality, laughter, cheer and warm happy days. Plunged into an abyss from which there looked little chance of escaping from. More than once George had barged into the bathroom to find them standing under the shower, leaning into each other. Trying to press closer and closer, seeking comfort, or warmth, after hours of simply standing under the water, letting it cascade down even after the hot water had run out. They wouldn't say anything. They'd just stand, motionless, longing for the scalding water to burn away the pain, and the freezing fall wash away the shame. Always together, yet constantly apart.  
  
The house was full. Nine Weasleys and Tania, Harry and Hermione, Lee Jordan and his older brother Luke, some of Charlie's work mates, Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore. Three long tables had been pushed together to allow everyone to eat together, and a three course dinner had been exquisitely made by Molly Weasley. The house was decorated in white, silver and red ribbons and garlands of silver tinsel festooned the air. Rosie stood upstairs in front of the full-length mirror in her and Fred's bedroom. She could hear the music from downstairs buzzing gently through the ceiling, and the sound of muffled voices laughing and talking together in the rooms below. She tugged her dress over the slip she wore, and smoothed the black fabric down. It fell to her mid shins, and matched her uncomfortable sandals. She stood looking for a few moments, searching for something. Something was missing - something she could not place. A thought drifted into her mind of the ball in her fifth year at Hogwarts. White slender hands coming around her neck from behind, brushing her pale throat, and leaving behind a fine silver chain. A miniature rose hung from it. The hands drifted down her arms, and a strand of silver hair fell onto her shoulder.  
  
"Rose," she murmured. In the mirror she saw that Fred was leaning against the doorframe in the gloom. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up, and the knot of his black tie was loose. He looked tired. Mind you, he always looked tired these days. Her hands fell to her sides as he came and stood behind her. Creamy white slender hands came around her neck from behind, brushing her pale throat, and left behind a fine silver chain. A crystal droplet hung from it. The hands drifted down her arms, and copper coloured spiky hair touched her throat as he bent to kiss her shoulder.  
  
She trembled as the two images overlapped. How could those two men be so different, and at the same time be so similar?  
  
"It's not the same as his," Fred whispered, as if reading her thoughts. They took hands and went downstairs. They were greeted and kissed by all and sundry, they congratulated Charlie and his beautiful fiancée, and were ushered to the table to eat. Rosie was placed opposite Fred, next to George and Harry. Fred was in between Hermione and Ginny. Rosie kicked off her painful shoes under the table. Her mind wandered during the toasts, and she pulled her evening scarf more securely round her against the draught. She raised her glass automatically, and mentally chided herself for being so callous at her friend's engagement. She jumped when Hermione piled potatoes onto her plate, and caught Fred's piercing gaze as he looked up from his. The redness under his eyes hadn't faded in the weeks following the miscarriage, and she longed to lie him down and bathe his poor tired eyes with cool water. But sometimes she feared that any movement would make him shie away, and only serve to drive a wedge further between them.  
  
Suddenly it dawned on her that it was too quiet.  
  
"Where's Keaira?" she asked urgently, to George next to her. George looked at Fred quickly, then lifted the tablecloth. He resurfaced with a frown on his face. Rosie turned in her chair, searching the room. She felt the draught again. "Fred, the bloody door's open!" she cried, jumping up and rushing out. The whole table was silent for a moment, then several stood up. Hermione ran into the kitchen and living room; checking the corners, and even the cupboards. Harry ran upstairs, and checked up there, but it seemed there was only one obvious answer.  
  
Rosie ran outside, forgetting her shoes, tearing holes in her stockings as she ran. It was pitch-black in the street, and snow was heaped by the sides of the road.  
  
"Keaira!" she cried, slowing. She stopped and turned around and around, peering into the darkness. Fred was standing on the top of the steps leading up to the front door. Bill ran out to join him.  
  
"How long had she been gone?" Bill asked imperatively. Fred opened his mouth, but hen shook his head. "Fred!" Bill shook him, but Fred couldn't talk.  
  
Rosie ran again, screaming her daughter's name, tears streaming down her face. Thiscan'thappenIcan'tloseanotherchildpleasenonononotKearia - Suddenly she saw a small figure dimly in the dark trotting towards her.  
  
"Keaira!" she ran to her and swept her daughter up. Rosie sobbed into her daughter's hair, holding her tightly, holding onto her daughter.  
  
"Mummy, you's gots no shoeses on," Keaira chuckled.  
  
"Don't you ever do that again! Do you hear me?" Rosie hurried back to the house, ignoring the stabbing pains in her frozen feet. Her voice came out as a sob, angry and frightened. "You could have been killed! You know you're not supposed to go out on the road!" Bill came down the steps and took Keaira away from Rosie as the little girl began to cry.  
  
"Alright Ro," he said gently. "She's only little."  
  
"She could have been hurt!" Rosie cried. Keaira began to wail.  
  
"I don't want to goes insides again! I wanna play with Draco! Mummy, I hate you!" she screamed, wriggling in Bill's arms.  
  
The three elders froze. Fred's hand was halfway to Rosie's arm.  
  
"What - " Rosie licked her parched lips. "What - what did you say?" she whispered. She shook the little girl hard. "What did you say?" she shouted. She turned away, looked at Fred's blazing green eyes, and ran again.  
  
"Rosie!" Fred screamed, and his feet moved. He'd been frozen to the spot, but now he pounded after her. But she had a good head start. Desperation lent her feet wings of despair. There was no way he'd catch her now. Rosie's mind was whirling, and she was sobbing again, inhaling gulps of frozen air which burned in her lungs, ignoring the sharp piercing agony which was her bare feet. If there was a chance -  
  
She caught sight of a black-robed figure hurrying away. All her senses were intensified - Fred's footsteps pulsated behind her, her feet felt like she was walking over hot coals, and there was a feeling of vehement dizziness as she touched the battered figure's arm, turning it. A lock of silver hair fell forward of the hood. A gasp of frozen air choked her, and she could do nothing. She was aware of different footsteps behind her, and the sound of a cloak moving over the ground. She whirled around, to come face to face with a figure cloaked and masked in an eminent manner. It's wand was raised, but it was pointed at Rosie, not the other figure.  
  
'AVADA KED - " it's voice started to hiss, but the black robed body knocked her roughly out of the way, sending a blast of red light towards the green which erupted from the Death Eater's wand. The red jet mingled with the green, turning it a brilliant gold. It plunged into Rosie's chest. She let out an unearthly scream, and fell to the floor, shaking violently. A voice yelled "STUPEFY!" and the Death Eater collapsed onto the icy ground. The dark figure's arm fell to his side, his wand falling from his hand. It raised its head, allowing the heavy hood to fall back, and it looked straight at Fred. Green eyes met grey.  
  
"Draco," Fred whispered, his voice devoid of everything now, and his wand still pointing at the fallen body. The figure's body shook pitifully, and Fred launched forward to catch it as it fell. Silver hair splayed over Fred's shoulder. Hurrying footsteps came towards them. A hand fell on Fred's shoulder. He looked up into kind blue eyes.  
  
"Take him inside, Fred," Dumbledore said quietly.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry, Punk! But rest assured, all will be explained in the next chapter - and don't panic, it's not a 'oo, he's come back to life', as in so many I have read.  
  
And all will not be a basket of roses. 


	24. Chapter 24 The Storm Keeps On Twisting

CHAPTER 24:  
  
Fred stared at Dumbledore for a moment, transfixed by his unwavering blue eyes.  
  
"Take him inside," Dumbledore said again, more forcefully this time. Fred became intensely aware of the frame that shook pitifully as it leant in his arms, and he realised that the dismal figure was completely at his mercy. Swallowing his pride, and with sinking realisation that Rosie was still lying still on the floor, he started half-dragging Draco back to the house. Willing hands flew towards him in the dark - cries of shock and horror fell upon his ears, but all he could think about was making it back to the steps. Draco was released from his hold by Bill, and taken into the warm. Fred turned back to where Charlie was carrying Rosie towards the steps. Charlie hurried inside. Fred went after him, ignoring George who stood by, his green eyes as pain filled as Fred's.  
  
"Mum, get Madam Pomfrey down here," Charlie laid Rosie out on the sofa. "She's the only nurse within miles of here."  
  
Mrs Weasley nodded, her face pale, and Disapparated. Charlie listened at Rosie's chest, and held his hand over her nose and mouth.  
  
"She's alive," he said quietly. Bill supported the unhealthy figure that was Draco into the kitchen, and shut the door. Fred sank into an armchair, his eyes glazed over, and his expression vacant. Ginny bounced Keaira on her lap in the corner, trying to take the child's mind off her mother. Charlie fetched a duvet from upstairs, and covered Rosie's prone figure.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
No one had heard Dumbledore come in. The old wizard stood tall and stern in the centre of the room.  
  
"He's in the kitchen," Charlie answered, at length. Dumbledore's eye fell on Fred, who had his hand to his mouth. Keaira was tugging at his knee, and he was watching her with something that looked like a mixture of fear and disgust. "Fred," Dumbledore said softly. "Your wife needs you." Fred's gaze flickered, but did not move away from the little girl's face.  
  
"Fred," Dumbledore repeated, more powerfully.  
  
But nothing could get through to him. Fred was lost. It was over - all he'd worked for, gained, earned - it was all gone, with the return of the silver- haired demon.  
  
Dumbledore went through to the kitchen, and shut the door behind him. What discussions, explanations, conversation passed there only the two would know.  
  
Eventually Dumbledore emerged into the living room, which had been silent for the past half-hour. He made sure the kitchen door was shut.  
  
"You're awake," he smiled at a shaky and confused Rosie. She had woken, and lay under the heap of covers without the strength to move. Charlie's hand soothed her aching and clammy forehead. The Headmaster's tone then became serious.  
  
"I've no doubt you are all highly confused, scared and shaken. I must tell you this - Draco is here with us now not by some form of illusion or reawakening." His blue eyes rested on Rosie. She was trembling at the mention of Draco, and small whimpers were escaping her lips. "He was never dead," he said quietly.  
  
"What are you talking about, Albus?" Arthur asked softly, and tiredly. "What is going on? His death certificate is filed with the Ministry, and yet he's here. If that's not Black Magick, I don't know what is."  
  
"He was never dead, Arthur. He joined Voldemort's ranks a few days after he left Hogwarts. He received the Dark Mark, and became possibly the youngest Death Eater we've ever encountered. He has told me some of the acts he was told to commit, and later, I will need to speak with Fudge about that." Now Dumbledore was the one whose voice sounded tired. In those few sentences, the listeners heard an old man speaking.  
  
"God, Albus," Arthur whispered. "Surely Azkaban will want to get involved?"  
  
"That will be discussed later," Dumbledore pronounced. "But I have news. Lucius Malfoy is dead."  
  
The silence was broken by the gasps from the onlookers. Dumbledore held up his hand for silence again. "Later is the time for judgement. I have to tell you, he has been dead for quite some time. The letter I received announcing the death of Draco Malfoy to the school was in fact, a letter from Draco himself. He was the murderer of his father. He had gone into hiding - away from Voldemort, from the Death Eaters. He has not lived these few years. He has merely tolerated existence. He has been a shadow, been sunshine, been large, and been small. He was severely wounded before his flight, and has managed to survive. Just. He has not told me why he did what he did, nor why he came back here. Indeed, when has a Malfoy ever admitted to needing anything?"  
  
Part of the sparkle came back into those blue eyes as he looked again towards Rosie. "Rose, understand that it was necessary for me not to tell you the truth. It has enabled Draco's survival."  
  
Rosie could not answer. She was shivering and coughing now. "Is Madam Pomfrey coming?" Dumbledore asked suddenly. Charlie nodded. "So," Dumbledore continued softly, "it seems Draco has saved one life, and is ready to meet another." His gazed fixated on Keaira. The little girl had fallen asleep on the floor, lulled into slumber by the silence and solemnity.  
  
Bill looked at his brother, then got up, shaking his head.  
  
"No, Albus," he whispered fiercely. "Look at him!" He jabbed his finger in Fred's direction. Expressionless, emotionless, unresponsive, apathetic, dull and pale were all words that described Fred to perfection.  
  
"Draco has a right to know he had a child," Dumbledore said softly. "Think how you would feel if you were in his position."  
  
Bill fell silent. Dumbledore patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I do not mean to sound callous, but Fred has to decide what he wants now. We do not yet know the full extent of Rosie's injuries. Draco will have to stay here, under my protection. It will be difficult."  
  
Madam Pomfrey padded down the stairs. Her eyes were slightly red, and her face was grim.  
  
George stood up. "Tell us," he said quietly.  
  
"Draco saved her life out there, undoubtedly," the nurse said quickly. "But - whatever curse he used to try and repel the Unforgivable simply wasn't strong enough. Rosie was still hit - and - and the two combined has resulted in a sort of bodily wasting."  
  
There was a stunned silence.  
  
"What does that mean?" George whispered. He was the only one to find his voice. Fred was still as indifferent as he had been an hour earlier.  
  
"It means," Madam Pomfrey drew a shaky breath. "It means - that eventually, she will die," she whispered.  
  
Hermione put a hand to her mouth, and almost retched. She leant in close to Harry, and he stared unseeingly at her. George found that his legs wouldn't hold him, and he sank onto the sofa next to Fred. Bill buried his face in his hands, while Charlie held Ginny tightly. Ron grasped his father's hand fixedly. Percy just stood gaping.  
  
"What will happen?" Bill mumbled, his eyes bright with tears.  
  
"In time she will lose the use of her muscles, leading to a bedridden state," Pomfrey answered him efficiently, and quietly.  
  
"How long?" George asked.  
  
"A few months. Six at most," Madam Pomfrey's voice cracked.  
  
"Say something, Fred," George whispered. "Please, for God's sake!" He pulled at his twin's sleeve. Fred lifted his face to his brother's.  
  
"What do you want me to say?" he whispered at last. He rose to his feet unsteadily. "What the hell do you expect me to say!" he screamed. He swept his arm along the mantle-piece, smashing off the photos and small ornaments. Tears worked their way down his cheeks. "What do you want me to say?" he whispered again.  
Rosie watched the slender figure slip around the door, dressed in borrowed clothes. How long had she desired to rest her eyes on this man? How long had she craved his touch, whilst hating herself all the more? The beautiful face far more exquisite than she remembered, even pallid as it was.  
  
"Have they told you?" she whispered. He nodded. "I want to ask you so many things," she said quietly. "Why you left. Why you did what you did. Why you came back. But I suppose it doesn't really matter now."  
  
"You've changed so much," he whispered, not wanting his eyes to leave her face.  
  
"You haven't."  
  
"I knew you'd get back with Weasley. I wanted you to be alright, when I left, and you were. You got a nice house, money, and clothes. You even got a married and had a kid."  
  
"You wanted me to be alright?" she hissed. "Then you should never have left!"  
  
Draco said nothing.  
  
"Malfoy till the end, aren't you Draco?" she accused harshly. "You can't even bring yourself to apologise or offer an explanation."  
  
Quick as lightning he was on the bed, holding her face in his hands.  
  
"I may be Malfoy by name," he hissed back, "but I am no Malfoy at heart."  
  
She was so close to tears now that she felt her mouth start to tremble. He let go of her, and she fell back onto the pillows.  
  
"I know that," she whispered. "I know that, I know." He was straddling her, supporting his weight on his arms. "But your daughter doesn't know that. And you're going to have to teach her, because I won't be here."  
  
"What did you say?" he whispered haggardly.  
  
"She's not Fred's, she yours!" Rosie snarled. "Green eyes and brown eyes don't make grey, Draco! She's a Malfoy!"  
  
"Mine," Draco sat back, passing a hand over his face. "But we - it was only one time - I left you like that, and you were - "  
  
"You have a child, Draco," Rosie said stiffly. "And you'll have to be responsible for her, when I - when I go."  
  
"There's nothing they can do?" he asked brokenly. All anger was forgotten in those few minutes. His hand reached for hers, and she held onto him tightly. He didn't need an answer. He just didn't want to admit to himself that his lover was dying. 


	25. Chapter 25 Three is Fun

CHAPTER 25  
  
Fred had not gone near Rosie after that night. Rosie wanted to speak with him, but he refused. He slept in George's room, and let Draco sleep on Rosie's floor. When Bill or one of the others questioned him, he would just shrug and walk away. But inside he was in turmoil. Try as he might, he could not help but feel that there was no point, even though he was yearning ot spend the precious time with his wife. Draco was back; he spent every minute that he had spare with Rosie, and in meeting his child. That was something Fred could vaguely understand, but it still cut him up. Time was running out. As the weeks past, Rosie would stay more and more in her room, despite urges for her to get out in the fresh air. She too was upset. She had to speak to Fred, apologise, tell him he would be alright, because everything that they had shared was love. True love. They had cared for each other, comforted, and simply loved. There was none of the obsessive, compulsive, mad desire that existed between the Malfoy heir and Fred's young wife.  
  
Things came to a head when he heard Rosie crying in her bedroom. Unable to just stand by any longer, he went in.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. Rosie curled up into a tighter ball, and ignored him. He approached the bed. "Are you in pain?"  
  
"You wouldn't understand!" she cried angrily. "Go away!"  
  
"But Draco would, I take it?" Fred asked, still calm and quiet.  
  
"I didn't say that!" she mumbled. "Please, just go!"  
  
"I'm not going until you tell me," he stated plainly.  
  
"I woke up, and I found that - I'd - I'd wet the bed!" she sobbed.  
  
"Don't cry," Fred whispered, but feeling like a hypocrite, because he himself was welling up. He'd promised himself he wouldn't cry in front of her - he'd be strong. It was happening so fast, it wasn't fair.  
  
"I'm so sorry!" Rosie sobbed. "I can't do anything any more! I can't even get out of bed by myself!" Fred went round to her side and knelt down.  
  
"Let me help you," he murmured. "I'm still your husband, Rosie." Rosie looked up at him.  
  
"I don't want to leave you," she whispered. "I don't want to go without you and Draco and Keaira. We've left this too late, Fred. I'm so sorry."  
  
Fred said nothing, but quietly got her cleaned up and dressed.  
  
"Come on," he muttered softly. "You've got to exercise." He sat her up and swung her legs round.  
  
"I'll do that, Weasley," a cold drawl came from the doorway. Draco leant against the frame, his overgrown silver hair caught in a rough ponytail on the nape of his neck. He still favoured black clothing.  
  
"Draco, let him," Rosie whispered. Draco simply raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and waited. Fred scooped Rosie up and carried her downstairs, where parallel bars had been set up to help Rosie exercise her legs. Fred stood at one end, and Draco steadied her round the waist. She struggled to move her legs across the floor. Draco tightened his hold on her when she stumbled, and she held onto his slender but strong hands.  
  
"A few more steps, Ro. You're doing really well," Fred said gently.  
  
"You are. You're nearly there. You're brilliant," Draco added, surprising both Fred and Rosie. Seeing Fred's open mouth, he immediately challenged him. "What, Weasley?" Fred held open his hands. "Nothing, Malfoy, nothing at all. It's just - did you just agree with me?" "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, Weasley," Draco growled.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"Draco?" Rosie asked cautiously. He lay sprawled across her bed, reading a book. It was a quiet afternoon. "Yes?"  
  
"I need to ask you something," she murmured. "You might not want to tell me - but I have to know. Dumbledore didn't want me to ask you, but - I - I thought that - "  
  
"Spit it out," Draco said, not taking his eyes from the page.  
  
"Why did you do it?" she whispered. There was dead silence in the room. Rosie could not even hear the birds that had been previously twittering outside any more. The quiet pounded her ears, taking her breath away, as he lifted his face.  
  
"Do what?" Draco kept his voice level, although he knew what she was talking about.  
  
"Why did you," Rosie swallowed, "kill your father?"  
  
There was a split second of silence, then Draco whirled around and moved his face close to hers.  
  
"Do you really need to ask me that?" he whispered, through gritted teeth.  
  
"Yes," Rosie breathed. "How could you do it?"  
  
"How could I do it?" he hissed, and jumped off the bed. "How could I do it?" he raised his voice, striding around, touching various objects, then leaving them to face her again. "You've seen the scars," he said, his voice sinking to a whisper.  
  
"Yes, I've seen them, Draco. It happened to me too, remember. But to kill your own father, I - " she was cut off by Draco leaping nimbly onto her legs.  
  
"He hit me," Draco's lips brushed across hers. "He kicked me in the ribs until I couldn't breathe. When his hand hurt he'd use a bar, ripped from the windows of the chambers under the house. He'd leave me in those dark chambers, scrubbing around in the dirt, my wounds getting infected, my blood staining the floor." He kissed her neck softly. Rosie's eyes filled up with tears. Why had she asked him? This boy, this man who'd seen and felt so much pain, and she'd dragged it all up again.  
  
"Draco, stop," she whispered, but his fingers rested on her lips, cutting her off.  
  
"Then when he was feeling especially pissed off, he'd wake me in the middle of the night. You know what he would do. You remember that time I came back to school?"  
  
"I remember," Rosie choked out.  
  
"It didn't stop after that one time, when I was sixteen. And then my blood would stain not the floor, but my white silk sheets," he murmured, dragging his tongue over her lips. He pulled back then to study her face. "I bided my time, little lady. And then there came a time when I knew, and he knew that I was more powerful than he was. I wasn't the best student in Slytherin for nothing, love."  
  
"Revenge," she whispered.  
  
"No. Hate, Rosie. I wanted revenge, yes, for what he'd done to me, but I hated him for what he was. Time after time, I watched him strangle the life out of children whose parents were working against him. He said that he preferred that to using magic - the squealing was louder. He killed Muggles, half-Muggles, even some Purebloods. And I had to be there to watch, and to learn. To take up my father's place. But I couldn't stand it. Maybe if I hadn't met you, I would have. You and your damned innocence," he chuckled now. "So I killed him, and I fled for my life. They hunted me, every where I went, I could feel them, coming closer and closer. The Mark burned me - I even tried to burn it off, but it healed up like nothing I've ever seen before. I knew they were coming. I was weak - it had taken so much from me, to kill him, and I became nothing. I was shadow, dust, wind and fire. I could feel so much - I could feel the night on my skin, Rosie," he held out his white hand, touching it with his other. "I could actually feel starlight, and I could hear the Earth turning beneath me. I was nothing, you see, my love, so weak. He'd even managed to take that strength I'd worked so hard for away from me after he'd died," Draco snarled. He was silent for a while. "And then I remembered you. I'd blocked my memories of you so that HE wouldn't see them, and try and hurt you. But I wanted to see you again. I wanted it so much, so I came. I watched you for a while. I saw you walking down the street with Fred, and Keaira, and I saw that you were happy. I nearly left then, but I just couldn't. And then," he swallowed. "And then they found me."  
  
Rosie put a hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him close to her. She ran her fingers through the silver hair, and fingered the black band holding it back. Some still fell into his eyes. His curiously sooty eyelashes rested against his bloodless cheeks, as he shut his eyes, and rubbed against her hand like a cat.  
  
"You're so beautiful," Rosie whispered. She traced his cheekbones, perfect eyebrows, nose and smooth lips. "Like ice," she added. "Ice is beautiful." He let her caress his face, enjoying the soft touch, letting it relax him. "Ice is cold," Draco murmured, still keeping his eyes shut.  
  
"So are you." He opened them. "And proud. And hard. And cruel. And dangerous. But you're flawless," she whispered. "Flawless."  
  
A smile ghosted across his lips.  
  
"If I'm so cold," he whispered. "Why don't you warm me up?" He kissed her, a kiss that was so soft she hardly felt it.  
  
"Draco," she began. He kissed her again. "Fred," she whispered.  
  
"Ah, Weasley. Of course, of course. You can't decide who you want to feel last, can you?" he breathed, teasing her earlobe with his teeth, coming as usual, straight to the point.  
  
Fred walked in, pushing the door open. He bit his lip at the sight of the two - Rosie lying under the covers as usual, and Draco straddling her knees above the cover. Draco looked at Fred. Then he looked at Rosie. Then he looked hard at Fred. Rosie could see the puzzle clicking into place in his mind. A glance at her again, with an eyebrow raised told her immediately what he was thinking. Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything, he'd turned back to Fred.  
  
"What about it Weasley?" he suggested. Fred looked blank.  
  
"What about what, Malfoy?" he asked. Draco slid off Rosie, to the side of her, not taking his eyes of Fred. He patted the bed next to him.  
  
"Why don't we show her a little piece of heaven, hmm?" Draco smiled disconcertingly. Fred gaped.  
  
"You're joking," he said in disbelief.  
  
"When do I ever joke about anything? Are you up for it, or not?"  
  
Fred stared at Rosie. She shrugged back, helpless with laughter at the expression on his face.  
  
"Me? In bed - with you?" he ascertained.  
  
"And darling Rose of course. Jesus, Weasley, I wouldn't go to bed with you for nothing," Draco scoffed. "What's the matter? Afraid you might prove to be - inferior - in some way?" He smirked. Rosie batted him with a hand, whilst hiding her head under the cover, unable to contain her giggling any more.  
  
Two minutes later, Draco and Fred were stripped to their boxers, and were lying either side of Rosie. The sun was setting outside - it turned Fred's hair a beautiful copper, and Draco's looked like he was aflame.  
  
"This doesn't mean I like you any better, or anything, Malfo -" Fred was cut off by Draco, who moved as fast as lightning to kiss him on the cheek. Fred gaped. Draco grinned. Rosie choked with laughter.  
  
"I know I'm a good kisser, Weasley. No need to thank me," Draco smirked. "Now hurry up, and get them off."  
  
It took all of five seconds before two pairs of boxers were discarded over the side of the bed.  
  
The irrepressible Draco lifted the duvet to look under. He took on a look of grudging admiration.  
  
"Congratulations, Weasley." 


	26. Chapter 26 In the Arms of the Angels

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
  
First I'd like to apologise for the extremely long delay in getting this chapter out. It is the last chapter of many, and there are 3 reasons why it has not been out sooner. The 1st is simply because I wanted to put something out that I was happy with, and I've had severe writer's block over the last few months. The 2nd is purely selfish - I've enjoyed writing this so much, I wanted to draw it out for another few chapters, but I realised that I could not do this without ruining the story. The 3rd is merely the fact that I honestly haven't had the energy to sit at the computer and write for any amount of time, even on some days it was hard even to face getting out of bed for school. Yeah yeah, I know I should be grateful for what I have and all that, but things are seriously getting me down. I don't think my other fics are going to get finished, so if anyone would like to carry them on, please feel free to email me and we'll do it together. Angels With The Scabbed Wings ahs been interesting for me to write - I don't feel I've done it justice, or conveyed to you my feelings at all well. I don't believe it's good enough, no, I'm not fishing for compliments, I truly think it could have been a lot better. On a happier note, I did enjoy writing it, most of it, anyway, and it took my mind off some of the depressing stuff.  
  
So here is the last chapter. Flame it if it sucks, praise it if it doesn't, just leave an honest review if you read it. Thanks.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I've been getting lazy on these. I own the ones who are not in J.K.'s books. The rest are borrowed.  
  
CHAPTER 26 :  
  
Summer was cooler than the previous year's. Gentle breezes wound their way through long blades of grass, fluttered the finely spun webs of spiders between the leafy trees, and chased the delicate fronds of the weeping willow tree through the dusty earth beneath it.  
  
One such breeze lifted the copper hair of a young man sitting on the lawn. His knees were drawn up slightly, and his hands lay uselessly in his lap. He lifted his face into the strain of wind, and felt it kiss his cheek. He felt its smooth fingers stroke the bare soles of his feet and wrap itself around his bare shins. It soothed away the crease of worry between his straight eyebrows.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting outside in the garden. Maybe a minute, maybe an hour, maybe more. He didn't know, and it didn't matter to him.  
  
All he could hear was the rustling of branches, the merry trickling of the small stream, and birdsong. Soft sounds. Just like her skin -  
  
Fred's eyes flew open. He had surrounded himself with the softest, the most beautiful, most natural things he could think of, to remind himself of her, but at the same time to find peace. It was the only way he could grieve, by finding the right balance between the past and the future.  
  
Tears had not come to either of them. His family had offered shoulders to cry on, or listening, sympathetic ears, but neither of them knew what to say.  
  
So he had lost himself in space and time for a while. But the memories wouldn't stop plaguing him. Even the smell of the newly cut grass he was sitting on triggered sudden images of her and himself rolling over and over in previously cut grass. Blades of grass on their clothes, in their hair, everywhere. He chuckled despite himself. But sitting there in the bright sunshine, it was easy to laugh, although the sound was foreign to his ears. He lay back in the grass and stretched out. The sun rose steadily higher and Fred felt himself getting drowsy. If he squinted, his sleepy vision made one of the rosebushes look like Rosie. He laughed again. Rosie the rosebush. Nothing made sense when he was half-asleep. His eyes gave in to the sun and closed.  
  
Sleep was cool and calm. It was pale and refreshing. Then she came to him, as she always did in his dreams, but this time she was different. She was not the same hollow-eyes, pinched, drawn white girl he was used to seeing. This time the angel was healthy and smiling, and almost plump. He smiled in his sleep, and she smiled then, a smile more joyful than the sun. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. A kiss lighter than air, and full of love.  
  
Now was the time he wanted to cry. But she wouldn't let him. She never spoke, but somehow he didn't want her to. She turned and vanished.  
  
His eyes flickered open, to stare into a pair of clear grey ones, one with a nasty black and purple bruise around it. They didn't blink, but they were bloodshot and tired looking.  
  
"You can see her too," whispered Draco. "Can't you?"  
  
Fred's tongue was heavy from sleep, but he nodded his head. Draco swallowed hard. A tear trickled down his face. Fred didn't know what made him do what he did next. Maybe it was because he wanted whatever remained of Rosie inside Draco. Or maybe it was because that Draco Malfoy crying was just - wrong. He didn't know, but he slid an arm round the smaller figure's waist, and dropped a light kiss on his forehead. They both cried then.  
  
"Sometimes when I walk down the street, I think I see her," Draco mumbled. Fred wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist.  
  
"Sometimes when I wake up I think she's still there and roll over to ask her if she wants a cup of tea," Fred grinned weakly. Draco gave a half-sob, half-laugh.  
  
"Christ, Weasley, if anyone saw us, they'd get the wrong idea," he ran a hand over his eyes.  
  
"Draco, after all that's happened, do you think you could call me by my first name?"  
  
"Sorry - Fred. Old habits die hard, hey."  
  
"Yeah, well, especially since we live together."  
  
"Live together?"  
  
"Well, you don't want to go, do you?" Fred asked quietly. "And I know I don't want Keaira to go."  
  
"Rosie's here," Draco mumbled. "No, I don't want to go."  
  
"Anyway, we could do with a fresh - evil - mind to work on some new Wizard Wheezes."  
  
"I'm not evil."  
  
"No? Try telling that to Ron," Fred chuckled. "What are you then?"  
  
"I'm - " Draco grinned, "I'm misunderstood."  
  
*  
  
A lot had happened in the little over four months since she had died. With the rest of their family and friends watching, they had scattered the ashes two days after the funeral in the garden, under the rosebushes and in the stream. Draco and Fred had lapsed into an uneasy silence, which culminated in a violent scuffle about something trivial. It had ended in black eyes, Fred with broken ribs, and Draco with a broken wrist. Their hatred for each other constantly rubbed shoulders with their grudging respect that they also shared. They said anything to cause a row after that fight, anything just to get emotions out of each other. After their confessions in the garden, they finally could.  
  
Draco was a devoted father to his little girl. He remained impassive and apathetic in her presence to appear strong for her sakes. But he would take with him to his grave the number of times he turned up in Fred's room. The number of times he watched Fred asleep, willing him to wake up. The number of times an inevitable sob would break free from his throat, and the number of times Fred woke up and held open the duvet to him.  
  
If there had been no contact between them, they thought they may not have survived.  
  
Draco could not explain away the fresh cuts to Molly Weasley. He couldn't explain why they disappeared when he woke up each morning, either. He could explain to Fred, and Fred alone, why he made them though. And he thought he could explain to himself what made Fred clean, bathe and bandage them for him.  
  
"The Angels with the Scabbed Wings," Fred said softly on one of these occasions, quoting a song from a Muggle CD he had.  
  
"We are the beautiful people," Draco whispered.  
  
They coped. They struggled. They wondered about the possibility of meeting someone else, but also crossed that through in their minds, because they felt they'd experienced all that life could give them in that department.  
  
Three souls inextricably linked. Making a solid base for the tiny feet of a little girl with Rosie's dark hair, Draco's grey eyes, and Fred's sweet temperament. Life. That was what was important now.  
  
Thankyou for every single one of you who reviewed any part of this. You were what made me continue this fic. Like I said, if anyone wants to continue any of my others, please email and we will work something out.  
  
*It gets better. It has to.* 


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